I See Dreams Which Speak Truth
by aelursadgod
Summary: Female!Harry/Tom Riddle. Time Travel fic. Harriet discovers that the future is not set in stone.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes at the end.**

Harriet awoke with a start, thick perspiration dripping down the sides of her temple. _It was all a bad, bad dream… _she thought to herself, feeling caged in the embrace of the warm Gryffindor sheets. She took a moment to get her breathing under control, and took the covers off her body.

The irony wasn't lost on her. As she sluggishly searched for her glasses and wand on the small bedside table, she thought that somewhere in the sky the fates must be laughing at her. For all purposes that should've been a _good_ dream; her friends' laughter warming her heart and filling her with the conviction that she wasn't alone, that she wasn't _worthless_. But she was far, far away from them; separated not by space, which for a witch like her meant absolutely nothing, but by time. And her heart seemed to shatter every night as she lay under the ancient roofs of Hogwarts, fifty years before her time. _What if I don't come back_, she whispers time and time again feeling the crude reality of her surroundings wash away the hope.

_Anything is possible_, a voice in the back of her mind said; and Harriet knew it was a whispered repetition of the words of one Tom Riddle, Slytherin Prefect in 1948.

She dressed herself, knowing that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. She absent-mindedly casted a silencing charm on her boots, intent on relieving the boredom of another restless night by walking the ancient halls of the castle. It was still dark outside, and even though her little time-travelling stunt had deprived her of her Invisibility Cloak, she'd long ago perfected the Disillusionment Charm. Perfect for a moonless night like this one. The dark would conceal the small shimmering glimmer that characterized the charm.

As she exited the Common Room, she could almost hear the disappointed whisper of her best friend. _"We practiced that charm just so it'd help you hide from You-Know-Who! You shouldn't use it to sneak outside at night!"_ Hermione had always been a sucker for rules. She smile sadly as she realized just how much she missed her constant nagging, and her intelligent eyes shining every time she got her hands on a new book.

She let herself wander aimlessly, noting with satisfaction that no prefects seemed to be around so late (or maybe so early?) into the night. She thought about one in particular she was aiming to avoid, and that was the mysterious Tom Riddle – not that he represented any mystery to her. Fifty years into the future, he'd be the one to grace her with the scar in her forehead – the one who would massacre her parents, the one whose name would be so feared people would not say it out loud. The one who, exactly forty-nine years from now, would send her strange visions of a dark corridor…

Harriet bit her lip as she stopped her pace – it troubled her to think of what had landed her in the past, not so much because of what happened but because she couldn't remember that well what had exactly transpired that night. She'd seen as Voldemort tortured Sirius in a vision and she'd hurried out of Hogwarts, her friends in tow, to break into the Ministry of Magic. They'd made it into the Department of Mysteries, and it was in a strange room full of prophecies that they'd encountered the Death Eaters. Harriet had walked straight into a trap; apparently Voldemort had wanted her to remove a prophecy that concerned them both from one of the shelves, and had sent her fake visions of her godfather to take her there. They'd managed to flee from the Death Eaters; out from the prophecy room and into a strange room with time-turners and other weird artifacts, and that's as far as Harriet can recall. The rest of her memories concerning the night are scattered images – but she'd managed to piece some of what happened, and she was sure that she'd done something with the time-turners that had landed her in the past.

She raised her thumb to her lips, gnawing on the skin of her finger as she always did when she was thinking. She'd tried to find out where she could get a time-turner, and had been disheartened when she was told that no such thing existed in the late 1940s. Up until then it seemed like wizards hadn't liked the idea of meddling with time, so there wasn't much on the subject in the library…

_Do you really think that you'll find within these walls everything there's to know about magic?_

As the mocking words of her parents' murderer once again made space for themselves in her mind, she felt something tap against her head. As a visible shudder ran through her body, she felt the same coldness trickling down her body as she did in her soul.

"Well, am I pleasantly surprised," said the smooth voice of Tom Riddle, as Harriet turned to face him. "Miss Evans, I thought you liked to take full advantage of your beauty sleep."

"Fancy seeing you here, Riddle," she said, trying to calm herself so she wouldn't look like a deer caught in the headlights. "I thought you liked to take advantage of the night to advance your evil plans for world domination, but at least I'm not the only one who's mistaken."

A low chuckled emerged from his throat, but Harriet wasn't fooled. Riddle may be all charm and smiles now, but she knew what he was capable of. At sixteen, he already had blood in his hands.

"Oh? And what would you have me do with the world, should I conquer it?"

"Kill all the muggles, enslave the muggleborns; sip wine in a tall, dark tower while you cackle madly at your enemies… I don't know, Riddle, surprise me".

Riddle's little smirk turned just a little more predatory at her words, but he still maintained that same air of nonchalance that he'd used to lie to Headmaster Dippet after killing Myrtle. That's what she'd seen in the memory his diary had showed to her in her second year. It was unnerving, and it made her all the more avid to get away from him.

"Ah, you're so unkind to me, Evans… I really do wonder where you're getting all these ideas from."

His penetrating stare reminded her exactly of the two mistakes she'd committed that had made Riddle take a special interest in her. One, she'd not acted like he was God's gift to Earth and had actually gone out of her way to tell him exactly what she thought of him. That by itself wasn't damning enough, although it was quite curious since he had pretty much everyone in Hogwarts (sans Dumbledore) wrapped around his little evil finger. Two, she'd accidentally spoken in parseltongue in front of him.

"_What was that, Evans?" the boy with sinister eyes said as he stopped in front of her. Her roommates had complained that the weather was too good to spend the day inside, and so they had organized a small picnic in front of the lake. Harriet had been happily ignoring the small group of boys that had stopped to chat with the Gryffindor girls, when she saw a small snake try to get inside one of their baskets. She gently grabbed it, whispering to the reptile so it wouldn't attack her, when she realized that everyone around her had gone completely silent. _

"_Nothing," she said, trying to sound dismissive. The small snake slithered out of her grasp, and she cursed herself for her carelessness. It wasn't every day that she spoke the language that had made the Slytherin line famous, but it had to be her bad luck that on the day she accidentally made use of it, Voldemort himself was around to hear it._

"_You spoke to that snake," Riddle said matter-of-factly. _

"_Yeah, it's really amazing what vocal chords can do"._

"_Don't take me for a fool, Evans!" he said dangerously, and Harriet saw Riddle's friends give her strange looks. "Where did you learn that?"_

"_I don't know what you're talking about, and frankly if I did I don't know why you'd think I have to answer your questions. Be a darling and piss off," she said, and saw Riddle stiffen in front of her. Harriet was sure that, had they been alone, he'd have hexed her to Hell and back. But the girls around her were giving the both of them weird looks, so Riddle wouldn't try anything. _

"_We'll talk about this," he said, and left with his entourage._

And since then, he'd tried his hardest to corner her to get his answers, but if there was something Harriet was particularly good at was making herself scarce. But now it was four in the morning and they were alone in a dark corridor; Harriet had to think of a way to get away and _pronto_, before Riddle could coax the secrets of the future out of her.

"I was told by a birdie that you were a bad man," she told him, licking her lips. Her eyes were darting from one side to the other, trying to find a suitable escape route.

"_Dumbledore,_" he said, in a whisper, and Harriet could've sworn she saw his eyes flash red in the darkness. Before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling from her mouth, "yeah, Dumbledore has a knack for dealing with dark wizards, wouldn't you say?"

And it was a moment too late before she realized he'd spoken the Transfiguration professor's name in the language of the snakes. His smirk became a full-blown smile then, pearly whites shining with malice and madness. He took a step forward, and she a step back. Her back collided with the cold hard stone of the wall behind her, and she had to suppress a shiver. She didn't like where this was going.

"_I would rather think it was a little snake who was telling you things about me… but snakes are surprisingly loyal to those who can speak their language,_" he said conversationally, and Harriet knew he was trying to get her to meet his eyes, so he could learn her secrets from her mind. "_Now, Evans, I'll ask you nicely… why can you speak the noble language?_"

"_It is no concern of yours, Riddle, but I didn't learn it anywhere. As long as I remember I could talk to snakes," Harriet_ was far from the best liar, but she guessed that it wasn't that far from reality. The first time she'd spoken the language had been when she'd been to the zoo for Dudley's eleventh birthday, coincidently also the first time she'd ever seen a snake in the flesh.

"_How strange… there's not a single magical family by the name of Evans in the country, so your father must've been a muggle. As for your mother…" _

"_She was a witch and it's all I know about her. I didn't grow up with them._" Harriet figured that the best way to make Riddle lose interest was to satiate his thirst for knowledge. So she decided she'd supply with half-truths whatever the Slytherin would come up with. She was practically a nobody among the student body, so there'd been no need to come up with any lies about her origin. Nobody asked. She found it funny that she could finally lead a normal life now that her scar meant nothing to the world.

"_Where did you grow up, then?"_ he asked, and she sensed an edge to his words that hadn't been there before.

"_An orphanage,_" she answered, remembering her uncle's threats of sending her to St. Brutus when she was younger. She idly wondered if that place existed in the forties. "_Why do you care?_"

Riddle didn't answer; instead he opted to fix her with a very unnerving stare. "_Where did you study before coming to Hogwarts?_"

"_I was homeschooled," _Harriet answered, easily feeding him the lies she'd agreed she'd tell anyone who asked. She'd already gone over this routine with the Headmaster. "_When I was eleven a friend of my parents came for me, and took me to live with him. He taught me everything I know. He passed away last year, but before that he arranged for me to be enrolled in Hogwarts. There, my life story. Are you happy now?_"

Harriet couldn't help but fidget under Riddle's incessant scrutiny, and wondered if the darkness would hide her uneasiness. If Riddle noticed anything, he didn't show it, and for that Harriet was thankful.

"_Very,_" he breathed, and Harriet had to suppress a shiver. He sounded pleased, and if there was one thing the girl didn't want in the world was to be present whenever Lord Voldemort felt happy. That always meant bad news for her. "Fifty points from Gryffindor for wandering the hallways past curfew, and detention tomorrow at seven in the Potions classroom for you, miss Evans."

At that, Riddle turned his back on her and promptly walked away, leaving Harriet gaping at his retreating form. "That's an absolute wanker for you!" she muttered, and moodily set to retrace her steps to the Gryffindor common room.

Slughorn wasn't as bad as Snape when it came to detentions, but what really irked her about the whole thing was that out of all people, it had been bloody _Voldemort_ to give her a detention. _Oh no, Potter, _she thought to herself in a cheap imitation of the Dark Lord's cold, sibilant voice, _I would not be so merciful as to grant you a quick death… you shall serve detention every day with Snape for the rest of your life!_

Her angry mental dialogue was interrupted once she was in Slughorn's classroom, down in the dungeons. She slowly opened the door, readying herself to face a rather boring evening of preparing ingredients… when she came upon the sight of a slightly flushed Tom Riddle, sitting behind Slughorn's desk. It took her half a minute to realize that there was someone between Riddle's legs, and that someone was bobbing their head up and down in a rhythm she recognized all too well…

She blinked once, twice and slowly turned around. Riddle's self-satisfied smirk was burned in her eyelids, making it oh-so-difficult not to turn back just to hex the living daylights out of him. She heard the tell-tale signs of clothing shuffling, and moved a step to the right to let the flustered girl leave the classroom. Even though Harriet hadn't seen her face, she knew it'd been terribly embarrassing for her. _Well that makes two of us,_ she thought drily, and turned to face Riddle.

"You told me I had detention today," Harriet said, unsure as to what one should say when they catch their nemesis getting fellatio from a random girl. Riddle nodded, the smirk never leaving his face, and Harriet made the mistake of looking away from his maddening stare… to discover that his pants were still undone. Harriet thanked the heavens that the sight of his white boxers would be the only traumatic sight she'd have to endure at the moment, since the girl had apparently been taught well in the art of putting back her toys once she was finished playing with them.

"Riddle, you're…" She paused, blushing fiercely. "You're indecent."

The dark-eyed boy shrugged elegantly, "I have a reputation to keep." He slowly arranged his clothes so he'd be presentable again, and Harriet hated the way he made it seem like he was fixing himself in the morning. She hated that he wouldn't feel as awkward as she did at the moment.

"Very well," he said, leaning back on Slughorn's chair, "now that I'm… _decent_, it is my duty to inform you that Slughorn wasn't feeling well this evening, and that I am to oversee your punishment."

"Why do I have the feeling you set this all up?"

"Why would I do that?"

Harriet huffed, sitting on one of the tables. "Because you get off on torturing defenseless Gryffindors, who knows."

Riddle chuckled, and stood from the chair. "I'd hardly call preparing balms torture," he said and pointed to the cauldron next to the desk. "I trust you know how the instructions?"

"By heart," muttered Harriet unhappily as she strode to the cabinets where she knew the ingredients would be stored. Funnily enough, that was also Snape's favorite detention activity. _Maybe Voldemort really _does_ have a hand in my detentions…_ the thought made her giggle.

Once she had gathered all the necessary components, she placed them on Slughorn's desk, humming to herself as she prepared the cauldron for the task with a few flicks of her wand. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Riddle completely engrossed in a book, and thanked the heavens once more that she wouldn't have to bear more than his silent presence. From what she'd been able to tell, he was quite the bookish guy, and if she'd learnt anything from Hermione it was that once they began reading, they couldn't stop.

Sadly, she hadn't counted on the fact that Riddle was at the end of the book. It had barely been an hour since she'd begun with the brewing that she realized Riddle was behind her, eyeing her potion with the most uptight expression of distaste she'd ever seen, and that was coming from a student of Severus Snape.

"I thought you said you knew the instructions," he said.

"Yeah, I do. Why?"

"The potion's not supposed to turn blue yet."

Harriet looked back at her cauldron, and noticed the quickly darkening tone of the liquid. She looked back at Riddle, not really knowing what the problem was. Snape had made sure she could recite this particular potion even while unconscious, and she knew that the potion was on the right track. "Yes, and now I have to add the powdered beetle eyes so if you'll excuse me…"

She shoved Riddle out of her way, knowing that there was just a small window of time to add the powder before the potion became too unstable for it. As she stirred, she noticed the frown on Riddle's face.

"It should've exploded."

Harriet smiled, remembering the times it'd happened to her. "That's because you're probably used to McKernnigan's formula, this is an entirely different version. It's easier to brew… and you can do it more quickly."

"Where did you learn this?" She swore she could see the dust in that phrase, so convinced she was that Riddle had used it often. Nemesis or not, she found it admirable the way he was always searching for knowledge… even if it was to use said knowledge to commit unspeakable crimes.

"My potions tutor was an asshole, but he was damn good at his job."

Riddle scrunched up his face in disgust. "Must you always be so crass with your vocabulary? You sound like a man."

"Oh yeah, and we already know that you like them girly and submissive, don't you, Riddle?" Harriet said, remembering the embarrassed girl fom before. She couldn't stop the blush the came over her cheeks as she recalled the intimate scene – even if Riddle wasn't that bad on the eyes, it was something she could've lived without.

"_You'll find that I am very flexible in my choice of lovers_" she heard him hiss, and found that he was closer than she'd liked him to be. She turned around, wand in hand, ready to give him a piece of her mind when she found herself bumping into a firm chest. She squeaked, caught completely by surprise, and tried to shove Riddle away from her. The prefect had not expected her strength and out of simple reflex he tried to reach for her; soon both found themselves falling.

"Ouch," Harriet said, as she sat up. Sadly for her, that meant she was sitting exactly on top of her nemesis. Once again she felt the blush rise to her cheeks, and tried to scramble away from the Slytherin, only to have her hands held in a tight grip.

"Let go!" she gasped, surprised at the viciousness of the hold. Riddle pulled her against his chest, and then turned positions in a quick, violent movement, so he'd be on top of her. Harriet felt fear creep on her insides, and began looking for her wand, which had fallen not too far from them. The look in Riddle's eyes spoke of hunger, of madness and unspeakable horror. It was the same bloodcurdling stare that Lord Voldemort had fixed her with in the cemetery.

"You are a terrible liar, Evans, and I don't like liars," he whispered, his voice low and unforgiving. Harriet felt herself shiver, and wished to have her wand back in her hands. "I will find out the truth about you, one way or the other."

"Let it go, Riddle," Harriet interrupted him. "Don't fucking think you're entitled to anything just because we're the only known parseltongue speakers in the world."

"_I think I am entitled to everything concerning my family,"_ he said, and Harriet could only gape at him. Did he really think they were family? That was so wrong, on so many levels.

"_Why would you think that?!" _she exclaimed. "_We're not family!_"

Riddle seemed to stop at this, his eyes suddenly filling with a new-found pleasure. _Uh-oh_, Harriet thought, and realized that her little outburst had pointed out that she knew more than she was saying.

"_That is certainly a relief,_" he said, eyeing her like a cat would eye a mouse. Harriet felt strangely naked under his gaze, and could only be thankful when he moved away from her. She sat up, and tried to put some distance between the mad prefect and her when she felt a hand in the back of her neck and a pair of hungry lips on her own.

"Mmphf-!" her muffled cried of surprise was stifled by the prefect's possessive hold of her lips. Tom Riddle – out of all the people in the world… _young Voldemort_ was kissing her. _Stealing her first kiss!_

She shoved him off and scrambled to her feet, blushing furiously although she couldn't really say whether it was out of anger or… something more. She wasn't about to question herself in the matter. Riddle was looking at her with a small smirk, and the smugness of his countenance made her want to kick him in the nuts.

"Wha-what was that, you asshole?!"

"I thought you'd be able to tell. It's commonly called a 'kiss'."

"Yeah, but what's that for?!"

The taller boy didn't answer her, and instead stood, cleaning the dust and wrinkles in his robes with a wave of his wand. "I think it's time for you to head back to your dormitory. Good night, miss Evans."

Harriet could only stare once again at his retreating back as she thought that her life was beginning to get increasingly more bizarre.

"Why are you all looking at me like that?" asked Harriet two days after serving detention, when she noticed her schoolmates giving her surprised looks. She thought she could even detect a hint of jealousy, and that made her curious.

"Riddle's been looking at you since you arrived," the girl to her left, Arabella, said. Harriet looked up, and met his gaze. "What's going on between you two?"

"Uh, I don't know," the green-eyed girl said, looking back to her breakfast. "I hate his guts."

"That's not what people are saying," chirped Lucretia McMillan, coming over to Harriet's side of the table. "Rumor has it that you two are dating."

Harry felt herself redden, wondering if she could cast a mass obliviate on the student population at that very moment. It was bad enough that she'd been deprived of her first kiss by a baby Dark Lord that now she had to endure the rumor that she was his _girlfriend_.

"We're not dating!" she screeched, and out of the corner of her eyes she could see some heads turning. "Besides, I-I like someone else…" she added, in a calmer voice. She thought of Cho, and the teary hug they'd shared after a meeting of Dumbledore's Army. She knew it was just a silly adolescent crush, but Cho had really struck her as being a really kind, loving guy. It certainly helped that he was very handsome.

"Oh, that's new!" Lucretia said, giggling like the schoolgirl she was. Harriet thought that she and Lavender would make a good team. "So Riddle had his sights set on the mysterious home-schooled girl, sadly she was already bewitched by someone else!"

Before Harriet could tell her that Riddle didn't have his sight set on anything but world domination, Lucretia'd already gone off to whisper merrily the news among her friends. The Girl-Who-Lived sighed and went back to finishing her breakfast.

_In all honesty, I'm still surprised at how quickly the rumor spreads,_ Harriet thought as she saw Riddle approach her. His eyes were darker than usual, and he was clearly displeased. She inferred that he didn't appreciate people thinking he would stoop so low as to _date_ someone, and prepared herself for the megalomaniacal fit she'd have to endure.

"Evans!" he shouted, and the way his voice sounded reminded her of one of Snape's memories. Just like the way her father sounded when he would chase after his mother. Except that Riddle didn't feel an ounce of affection for her.

"Yes, the one and only," she tiredly answered as she kept walking.

"I've heard some strange rumors," Riddle commented as he fell in step with her, looking for all the world like she was the one who'd been running to catch up with him.

"Care to share?" her voice was thick with disinterest.

"Someone has caught your eye," he said in a dark tone, and Harriet had to stop to take a look good at his face. His blasé expression told her nothing.

"Yes, a good time ago. What is it to you?"

The future dark lord fixed her with a smoldering stare, and stormed off. If Harriet hadn't known him, she would've sworn that he was… _jealous._

"I didn't know you were on speaking terms with Abraxas Malfoy," Lucretia commented as they watched the blond pureblooded heir make her way to their table. He was looking slightly disgusted, as if he'd been walking on rotten eggs. Harriet had the sudden realization that the Malfoy sneer was a genetic trait, not a developed ability.

"I'm not," she answered the gossipy girl, sighing. She held a book in her hands, one that she was very keen on finishing. Dumbledore had managed to acquire the journal of an inventor who'd studied the movement of time for over a century before trying to lay down the basics of what Harriet bet was the first timeturner. It warmed her heart that her future headmaster would go out of his way to help her, and not for the first time she wondered if it would be okay to send him a bunch of extravagant socks for his birthday.

"Evans," the arrogant tone of Malfoy interrupted her musings, and she looked up from her book to watch him with a raised eyebrow. She knew that he was speaking to her on behalf of his little master, since a perfect pureblood heir like him wouldn't bother deigning a nobody like her with even a glance. "I'd like to speak to you, in private."

At that, she stole a quick glance to the Slytherin table. Riddle was speaking with his friends, seemingly unaware of what his cohort was doing. Nevertheless she knew better and wondered if it might be safe to go anywhere with the grandfather of Draco Malfoy.

"Okay," she said, putting her book in her bag and checking that her wand was safely tucked inside her pocket. As the fake Moody would say, "constant alert!"

"As eloquent as always," he sneered, and hurried off to the Great Hall's doors, a wary Potter in tow. Once they were outside of the prying eyes of a good number of the student population, he turned to her. Harriet noted with great amusement that he was gritting his teeth.

"I…" he started, almost as if it took him a great deal to say it, "I would like to know if you'd be inclined to attend the next Hogsmead outing with me."

Whatever she'd thought he'd say – it didn't even come close to that. Abraxas Malfoy, of all people, was _asking her out?_ She'd known Lucius and Draco to be the two most uptight people on Earth, but their ancestor certainly outshone them in that department. The idea that he was asking her, who was certainly everything but a pureblood little princess, time in which they could socialize like they were chummy with each other was certainly hilarious. She let out a chocked laugh, and noted with satisfaction that Malfoy's face was tinted red with embarrassment.

"Look, not that I'm not flattered, but did Riddle put you up for this?" she said, knowing that it was getting a bit old to blame Voldemort, past or future incarnation, for everything that happened to her. Although the funny thing was that he _really_ was the source of all trouble in her life.

"Yes," he muttered, regaining some of his proud pureblood persona. "I have to admit I'm relieved that you're aware how out of your league I am."

Harriet snorted, and began to walk away. "Sure, Malfoy, I've always known little blond ferrets are just too much for me", she said with a laugh.

Malfoy wasn't the only one of Riddle's little entourage that came forth in the subsequent days. Lestrange, Yaxley, Bullstrode and even the Greengrass girl, they'd all tried to ask her out. Harriet didn't know what Riddle was trying to get out of this, but she was tired of having to put up with all the arrogant momma's boys –and girl. She wanted to have a little chat with the Slytherin prefect, but now it was he who was making himself scarce.

"Ah, Miss Evans, a word with you if you may," came the voice of Albus Dumbledore after the first Transfiguration class of the week. She'd intended to catch Riddle as he was leaving the classroom – he always left in a hurry after this particular class, but it seemed like her future headmaster had other plans.

"Yes, professor?" she asked, facing the old man with a small smile. She'd have to buy those socks some time.

"A lemon drop?" he offered, and she murmured a small 'no, thanks' before sitting herself in the chair in front of his desk. "Ah, a shame. I find these particular muggle sweets to be the most delicious of them all."

"Well, I was simply meaning to know how your research was going," he fixed her with a pointed stare and she knew what he meant by 'research'. "Have you had any difficulty with the concepts?"

"No," Harriet said with no small wonder. "Surprisingly enough, I was able to understand everything… I mean, what I've read so far. " She blushed a little. Between classes and Riddle she'd had little time to read the book, but she wasn't the far from finishing it. "The writer thought that the stars had some sort of influence over time… I think I know what sorts of conditions I should look for to get back to my time, but I still have to learn the magic I should perform."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, reclining on his chair as he slowly stroked his beard. "You'll find that most magic tends to seek a state of balance, miss Evans. A time traveller, I'd suppose, is someone who throws out of balance the magic that weaves together time and space… so in this case, you'd find that maybe should you focus your intent at the right time in the right place, the magic itself would get you back to your rightful place, as it'd unconsciously seek for the balance lost."

Harriet nodded dumbly, "so what you're saying is that the universe itself wants me out of here?"

"You could say that," the Transfiguration professor said with a small chuckle. "Although it sounds rather harsh when you put it that way."

"Yeah, I guess," the Girl-Who-Live smiled.

"I'd also like to ask you something, if you'll pardon my bluntness" he said, his countenance turning more serious. Harriet straightened herself in her seat, and nodded. "I've noticed that you've caught Tom Riddle's eyes. Although if circumstances were different I would not meddle with a student's life, I think I am obliged to warn you that he is not what he appears to be."

Harriet smiled sadly, knowing that out of everyone in the world, she was probably the one who better knew that. "I know, professor. I'll be careful."

Dumbledore nodded, intrigue in his eyes. She knew he wanted to know how exactly _she_ had found out about Riddle's true nature, but she wasn't about to divulge any secrets from the future, even to her esteemed headmaster.

"That's a rather interesting book you have there," Harriet heard to her right and sighed. _Not again_, she thought with annoyance. She looked up to meet the stare of one Thorfinn Rowle Jr., a seventh year Ravenclaw.

"Can you please not do this?" she said, not bothering to hide her displeasure. "I don't know what Riddle wants to get out of this, but I think it'd be better…"

"I'm not here because of Riddle," Rowle interrupted her, not affected at all by her little outburst. "True, he told me to speak with you. But before that I'd already made up my mind to do just that."

Harriet looked at him with surprise. "What do you mean?" He smiled at her, and took a seat beside her at the edge of one of the many arcs that divided the gallery from the inner garden.

"You're a very pretty girl, Evans, and you have some sense in you. I'd be honored if you spent the next Hogsmeade weekend with me".

Harriet looked at him like he'd grown two heads. She knew she was blushing.

"I…" truth was, she'd never been asked out by anyone. Cho, she'd asked him herself. Although if she had to be honest, she'd been far too busy trying to foil whatever evil plot was going on that year in Hogwarts to really take a good look at the male population of her class. "That'd be okay," she said, inwardly wincing at how lame she sounded. "Eh, I'd like to go with you as well."

_Smooth, Harriet_, she thought. Rowle hadn't seemed to notice her lack of finesse, busy as he was to smile brightly at her.

"Very well, then. I'll see you in the Great Hall at ten, next Saturday!" he said, and with a small stolen peck to her cheek he took off. Harriet was left, one hand softly rubbing the place he'd kissed, wondering exactly what had happened.

"I-I… " Rowle stammered as she saw his date run to him. It was a cold December morning, and in spite of the strong wind playing around with her inky black locks, or perhaps because of it, she looked stunning. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice coming out a bit hoarser than he'd intended.

"Y-yeah," Harriet said with a nervous smile. She'd never been one to dress up or care much about her appearance. Early on she'd learnt that the less attractive you look, the less attention people pay you; and if Dudley and his gang had taught her anything, it was that standing out always meant trouble. Plus, she figured it didn't make sense to put on make up and nice clothes if you were going to end up all bruised and sweaty from trying to fight or escape some bullies. "Thanks," she fidgeted, her hands playing around with her scarf.

Rowle cleared his throat, seemingly trying to regain his composure, and offered her his arm. "My lady," he said in mock seriousness, making Harriet smile softly. She took the offered arm and they began walking towards the small village ahead.

"I have to confess that you caught my eye when I saw how impressive your spellwork is," Rowle said after a small silence. "I saw you demonstrate the Shield Charm to some of your friends," he stole a small glance at her, "it was really impressive how powerful your shield was."

Harriet smiled to herself; it was a bittersweet smile. Of course her defensive spellwork would be above average, since the only thing she seemed to be doing ever since she entered the magical world was to get herself in trouble. "I learnt it out of necessity, more than anything."

That caught the Ravenclaw's interest. "Really? What for?" he asked with no small amount of curiosity.

"I had a dark wizard after me," she said after a while. "The man was insane… he killed my parents, then tried to kill me, failed, and decided he would not stop until I was six feet under."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Rowle said, and he meant it. He'd heard the rumors that said that the mysterious transfer student was an orphan, but he had never been one to put much stock in what people said under their breaths. "I imagine he's no longer a problem?"

"Kind of. Let's just say that he can't really hurt me while I'm here." As she said those words, she realized just how much truth there was behind them. If she took Riddle's occasional pestering out of the equation, she could say that her life was entirely normal as it was. No Dark Lord trying to come after her, no mad servants trying to snatch her out of Hogwarts or kill her, no Girl-Who-Lived bullshit. She was just Harriet Evans, another face in a sea of faces.

"So you're having the time of your life," Rowle said, looking at the soft smile in her face. Harriet nodded.

"It's like a vacation for me."

As they walked into the main street of one of the few wizarding villages in all Britain, Harriet once again wondered at how impervious wizards were to time. The place wouldn't change much in fifty years; except for a few shops here and there, she felt like she was in the Hogsmeade of her own time. The excited murmur of student chatting became the comfortable background to their silent walk as they headed to Honeydukes. Once or twice they'd cross paths with someone Rowle knew, and they'd stop for a minute to greet them. Harriet recognized some of their names.

"You seem to know a lot of people," she commented, after they greeted yet another student. "I thought Ravenclaw was the least social of the Houses."

"Nonsense," Rowle said with a small chuckle as they entered Honeydukes. "Just because we like to read doesn't mean we don't like people. In fact, people tend to be as fun to read as books."

"I guess there's some truth to that," Harriet said, scrunching up her nose. "I've never really liked reading."

"Oh? And just how did you learn such impressive magic?"

Harriet rubbed the back of her neck, blushing a bit. "Having someone explain it to me."

"So you have more of a hands-on approach to learning," Rowle affirmed, and his date nodded. She was thinking whether she should buy chocolate frogs or fizzing whizbees, when she felt a hand under her chin. She looked up, and met Rowle's hungry blue eyes. "Have you learnt how to kiss?"

She blushed, all thoughts about sweets leaving her mind, and squeaked a small "yes".

"Pity," said Rowle, moving away from her with a smirk. She stared at him for a minute, trying to control her face. She thought back to the kiss Riddle had stolen from her, and had to fight off the heat once again rushing to her cheeks.

She was so distracted she didn't see the aforementioned prefect approach until he was right in front of her. "Ah?" she gasped, suddenly aware of the scowling dark eyes looking down at her.

"You're blocking the way, Evans," he said in a cold voice, and Harriet dazedly moved to the side. When she tried to find Riddle again, he was gone, lost in the sea of students that had swarmed the shop. She took a look at the crowd, decided against waiting an eternity to buy her sweets, and exited the shop. She figured she could wait for Rowle outside.

It wasn't long until the blond Ravenclaw was back within her sight. "Sorry for making you wait," he said with an apologetic smile. "Here, I bought this for you."

She thanked him when he gave her a box of chocolate frogs, feeling bad for not being able to buy the boy anything. "Oh, don't worry about getting me anything," he said, looking at her expression. "As cheesy as it may sound, your company is more than enough."

Harriet blushed again.

"I know a nice spot not too far away from here," he said, looking around. "We could grab some hot chocolate from the next shop and go there."

She felt grateful for warming spells as they sat on the trunk of a fallen tree at the edge of the village. There was a fence some steps away from them that marked the end of Hogsmeade, and beyond that Harriet could see the fields where her godfather would hide in fifty years from then. As promised, the lonely clearing was lovely for a small stop with hot chocolate in her hands. The perennial bushes around them gave them a privacy she knew was appreciated by many couples each outing.

"Say, Harriet," Rowle said, staring at her with a fake air of nonchalance that didn't sit well with the green-eyed girl. "You must be very proficient at dueling if you had a dark wizard after you… I'm a bit of a dueling nut myself, and I thought that maybe we could spar a little?"

The girl let out a giggle. "I don't know that much about conventional dueling… "

"Oh, it's no problem. As long as you don't try to kill me," he said with a chuckle.

Harriet stood up, leaving her cup on the floor and taking her Holly wand in her right hand. "Your flirting is weird," she said, almost without a thought. Rowle didn't seem to mind her comment and turned to face her, his own wand in hand. "You're a very weird girl yourself."

Harriet supposed there was some merit in that. She stared at him, not sure if she should do the bow thing she'd seen Snape and Lockhart do back in her second year. The older boy spared her from asking as he immediately began attacking. Her Seeker reflexes kicked in and she moved away from the ray of blue light, shooting back a red _Expelliarmus_.

Rowle deflected the spell, and began to get steadily more vicious. Harriet was surprised at how serious he was, and wondered if, given his association with Riddle, he might one day become a Death Eater. She held her own as she tried to find a way to disarm him. A brief glance at the hot chocolate she'd left forgotten gave her an idea, and taking advantage of a small opening in Rowle's defense, she threw both cups at him with a flick of her wand.

He let out a pained moan as she disarmed him, hot chocolate dripping down his face and hands. Harriet instantly regretted her tactic, knowing how scalding the liquid had been. She vanished the offending chocolate as she knelt beside him. "I'm sorry!" she gasped, taking in the sight of his reddened skin and teary eyes. "Oh, oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't think-" she was interrupted by a dark chuckle behind them.

"You wouldn't be so sorry if you knew the sort of spells he casted," Riddle said as he walked into the clearing. "The Blood Boiling Curse, Rowle? Shame on you for trying to cast that on a lady," he said with a mocking smirk at the teary-eyed Ravenclaw. Harriet had the feeling that there was more to the situation than what it seemed, and suddenly felt very stupid about agreeing to the date. She stood up, her eyes never leaving Rowle's face. His expression gave nothing away, but something told her that he was embarrassed, although what for she couldn't tell.

"What do you mean?" he asked Riddle, her voice completely devoid of any anger for the first time. The future dark lord didn't fail to notice that, and his smirk turned into a very dangerous smile.

"He was using the dark arts, _dear_" he said, stressing is use of the last word. Harriet flinched at that and turned her head to give the Ravenclaw a hard look. "Apparently he didn't like being bested by a girl… after all he has a reputation to uphold."

"What are you talking about?" Harriet felt that Rowle and she would be having a little chat very soon, but she didn't feel like blowing up in front of her arch-nemesis. She was incensed that the other boy had used the fucking _dark arts_ in a supposed mock duel.

"I'm in the dueling team," he said without looking at her. She watched him stumble to his feet, and had the sudden urge to kick him.

"One of the finest duelers in Hogwarts," Riddle said, and just by the tone of his voice Harriet was sure he would have added _but that's because I'm not interested in competing._

"Okay, that's interesting and all," she said, turning to Rowle, who by the way he was acting gave Harriet the impression that his feet were the most interesting thing in the world. She found his behavior strange, but didn't comment on it. "But what is the deal with you using the dark arts in a _mock duel_, you asshole?"

The older student flinched, and Harriet could swear she saw remorse in his expression. That gave her pause, and she had the sudden idea that the duel had not been his idea… she focused her angry stare on Riddle, and took a step towards him. She could feel her wand shooting sparks as her magic answered to her anger. The future Dark Lord raised an eyebrow at her.

"This was your idea," she spat out. He didn't answer her, so she went on with her rant. "I'm fucking sick of you, Riddle. I don't know what you think you'll accomplish with this little game of yours, but I'm not playing. Leave me alone."

"_I honestly don't know the reasons behind your hostility to me in the first place, Evans," _Riddle hissed in parseltongue. _"Even before we spoke a word to each other, you'd already made up your mind to hate me. I find that a bit curious, as you do not strike me to be a girl without sense, and it's senseless to hate without motive._"

"_You're a dark wizard, Riddle. As your lackey," _at this Harriet stole a glance at Rowle, whose eyes were the size of saucers at her using the snake language, "_might have already told you, I had a dark wizard after me. Sorry but not sorry, I'm not exactly thrilled with you lot._"

Riddle cautiously regarded her, as if she was something he'd never seen. He put on a polite smile.

"_That's a rash generalization. Don't fault the magic that I use because of the wizards that employ it against you,_" he told her. "_You're a powerful witch, Evans, but you're wasting your potential._"

"_I hardly see how the dark arts might help me reach my potential."_

"Give it a chance," Riddle said once again in English. "Come to the left corridor in the seventh floor next Tuesday at six, in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. We have a study group of sorts, for students who are not fully… _satisfied_ with the curriculum. If I can't make you change your mind then, I shall not bother you again."

Harriet regarded him warily, knowing it was too good to be true. She knew there was little Riddle could do to make her more amicable to the dark arts, so it was a lost cause on his part. _He must know that_, she thought, _so the question is, what is his true intention?_

"Very well," she agreed, and he smiled in satisfaction. "Don't even think about trying anything funny… or I'll make sure you regret it."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Why would I do that? You're too pretty to kill," he said with a chuckle, and Harriet wondered if she could quote him the next time Voldemort tried to kill her. "I'm sure Thorfinn would agree, don't you?" he said, once again his voice all mockery and deviousness. The Ravenclaw flinched, and nodded, without taking his eyes off the ground. "I'm afraid I'll have to take your _date_ back to the castle, Evans. Thorfinn and I have some things to discuss."

He didn't wait for her answer before walking away; Rowle gave her an apologetic look before following him. Once again on her own, she looked at the discarded cups on the ground and realized the whole thing had been a test. _Riddle had been testing her abilities._

She felt sick.

"This is a very stupid idea," she muttered to herself as she stood outside the Room of Requirement. She was surprised that Riddle knew about the place, and wondered what uses the dark wizard in training had given to it, other than to make use of a dynamic training ground for his future army.

Riddle had told her where and when they'd be meeting, but he never specified _how_ she was going to get inside the room. As it was, there was nothing but a wall in front of the tapestry, and so she waited, thinking that maybe Riddle had a spell or something that'd warn him of her arrival.

"Evans," came the voice of the boy in question, and she turned to see that a door had materialized in what had once been stone and dirt, and Riddle's head was poking out. She could hear the distinct sound of excited voices and fighting from behind him, and once again pondered the idea of going back to common room. _He said he'd leave you alone_, a small voice in the back of her head reminded her, and she gathered her Gryffindor courage to walk the steps towards where Riddle was waiting.

"I'm here," she said as he let her in, closing the door immediately behind her. She took in the scene in front of her with no small amount of nostalgia. It seemed that just as they'd done with the DA back in her time Riddle had set up a training space, dummies included. There were some small difference between the room they used and this one, but the resemblance was still striking. She wondered at the irony of her arch-nemesis and her both teaching fellow students magic beyond their curriculum.

"Fellow students," Riddle said from behind her, and even though he had not raised his voice, everyone seemed to hear him, for in a matter of seconds the room had quieted and the students were looking at him. "Miss Evans here is going to join us for today; as some of you know," at this he glanced briefly at Rowle, who was standing near a group of scowling Slytherins, "she's proven herself to be quite adept at dueling. I was hoping we could convince her to add her skills to our group."

Harriet inwardly marveled at Riddle's leadership skills. As soon as he'd praised her skills, she saw that those who'd regarded her with little more than casual disdain now looked at her with approval, as if Riddle's praise was a blessing of sorts. _He's got them all wrapped around his finger_, she thought, feeling also quite sick when she thought how easily the psychopath could sway people to his side.

"I'd like to see a demonstration," said the voice of Abraxas Malfoy, who was among the group of Slytherins near Rowle. "Certainly there's much we could learn if we saw Miss Evans in action."

Harriet looked at Riddle, who was nodding with a small smile. "Ah, yes, that'd be adequate. If you wouldn't mind, that is," he said, looking at her. She figured that she might as well make the burger after having killed the cow and nodded.

"You should be the one to face her then, Abraxas, since you're so anxious to experience her skills."

The blond pureblood heir smirked, making his way to the center of the room. Harriet followed suit, and had a bit of a déjà vu as the students around them formed a circle. She fingered her wand, trying not to show how nervous she really was. After all, Rowle had used the dark arts against her, what's to say that Malfoy wouldn't do the same?

_They're young, but some of them are going to be Death Eaters_, she thought, casting a look around the room. _Fight like you would fight a Death Eater_.

And so she tightened her hold on her wand, and let Malfoy make the first move. She quickly threw a Protego shield around her as the yellow sparks of an incendiary curse rebounded on the powerful defensive spell, and from within the protection of it she cast a _Bombarda_ against the stone floor under Malfoy's feet.

"Ah!" he gasped as he jumped away, and Harriet used that minimal distraction to transfigure the dummies to her right into a small pack of brown dogs. Their wooden fangs flashed dangerously as she willed them to attack her opponent. A freezing charm on the floor, however, rendered them useless. "You won't be able to do much with some puppies," Malfoy sneered at her, and with a slash of his wand he made the one closest to him explode.

"We'll see about that," Harriet ran to the edge of the frozen patch on the floor, and with a cry of "_Aestus ignis!_" the space between her and the Malfoy heir ignited. She directed the flames towards the flailing dogs, which seemed not to notice the fire as their bodies began to act like living torches. The fire had done away with the coating of ice on the floor, and so they were free to act on the will of their mistress. Harriet had the rare pleasure of seeing Malfoy's eyes bulge as he saw the rabid, flaming dogs, and with a desperate cry he blasted them into pieces.

Harriet didn't want to give him time to recover and with a flick of her wand, she willed the stone under his feet to trap him. It was a tactic Hermione and she had discussed many times, as they'd been prone to do in her fourth year in preparation for the first and third task. Malfoy, however, was a more challenging adversary than she'd thought at first, and with a flick of his wand he'd done away with her shield. An electric blue curse she'd never seen destroyed her defenses, and she was forced to jump away from the ray. She let herself fall to the ground and rolled so she would be facing him. She was taken by surprise by a cutting hex, and let out a small yelp as she felt blood trickling down from her left shoulder.

Malfoy kept casting, and she was forced to dodge spell after spell. Although she didn't recognize half of the incantations, she knew that the pureblood's attacks were far from the Ministry-approved spell work they were supposed to learn. She began to worry about his seemingly relentless offensive, when she realized that he was growing tired – she didn't doubt that her classmate was using some rather powerful magic, but it didn't come without a cost. He didn't count on her agility – she doubted that mere physical resistance was something that many wizards took into account, and so she counted on that for her next move.

She conjured a wall to protect her from a curse that sounded particularly vicious and moved to her left, getting closer to a wall of pillows similar to the ones they'd used in the DA. As the dust cloud from the exploded wall settled, she sent the pillows towards Malfoy; like moths to light they fluttered around him. He was desperately flinging reducto curses at them, but it did little against the growing number of flying pillows. With another flick of Harriet's wand, the pillows lunged at him; and soon he was being smothered by the fluffy army.

Harriet walked to his side and took the Slytherin's wand away from him with her hand, and then released him from the embrace of her pillow army. "Why, Malfoy, you look like you just got out of bed," she said with a smile at the blond boy's ruffled appearance. Some of the students around them chuckled, and she was startled by the feel of someone's hand on her shoulder.

"That was impressive," it was Riddle, who was looking curiously at her. His eyes didn't stay long on her face, and soon moved to the red-faced Malfoy's visage. "Well, I think there's much that Miss Evans has shown us… like the importance of fitness."

"Abraxas, while your range of curses is certainly impressive, you failed to notice that Miss Evans is no amateur when it comes the most effective defensive tactic of them all; dodging. And instead of trying to restrain her, like she did you, you opted to fire curse after curse… which drained your magical resources. That was the mistake that cost you the duel."

Riddle took a look around the room, and Harriet let herself be impressed by how insightful he was. Malfoy had asked for a duel purely out of a desire to humiliate her, she was sure of that, but in spite of the little power-play Riddle had managed to get a small lesson for his followers. She was a bit disgusted at the idea that she might've actually _helped_ these baby Death Eaters.

"Simplicity and austerity," the Slytherin heir continued. "Evans is not used to salon dueling, where the winner is decided by the variety and complexity of spells and the strategies used. She barely used anything outside the magic taught at Hogwarts; but she used it _effectively_, and that's the lesson we ought to learn from this occasion. You can rest your head in those pillows," he said with a smile as he pointed towards the discarded remains of Harriet's little army, "but you can also smother your opponent with them."

The students cheered, and Harriet felt a bit sick at the smugness radiating from Riddle. _Does it always have to be about killing?_ She asked herself.

She spent the rest of the meeting following Riddle around as he explained different spells to the students. At his insistence, she practiced some of the most benign curses, figuring that it wouldn't really hurt her to learn more offensive magic. After all with Voldemort's return, she didn't doubt she would be facing him or his followers again. And there was something to be said about the irony of Voldemort teaching her magic that she could use against him.

"You have to move your wrist a bit more pronouncedly," Riddle instructed her, and she felt herself stiffen when he took her wrist to show her the correct movement. He was behind her, his breath caressing the nape of her neck; the intimacy of their position wasn't lost on her. "Like this," he whispered, next to her ear, and gently guided her hand to do the right swirl. "Now try it."

"_Fuerit dissolutum,_" she chanted, and from her wand came out a thick black mist. It wrapped itself around a big rat they'd transfigured and stunned. She watched with no small amount of fascination as the rat began to decay; first its hair crumbled to dust, then its skin, and finally its bones. It repulsed her to think of what it could do to a human being. "What's the use of this? Other than killing, of course."

"Believe it or not, it was a spell invented in the dark ages," Riddle said conversationally. "Wizards were impervious to the black plague, but those who had muggle relatives had to watch their family die in the most horrendous of ways. One of them realized that one of the primary vessels for the disease was this," he pointed at the dust that had once been a rat. "So he devised a spell that'd dispose of them quickly and completely; their diseased blood would be turned to dust along with the rest of the rat."

"And that's what saved the world from the Black Plague?" Harriet asked.

"No, the wizard killed himself shortly after inventing the spell and it was left forgotten in a book until some descendants of his found it two hundred years ago. They used it with far less noble intentions," he said with a chuckle.

Harriet pouted. "That's a really sad story."

Riddle arched an eyebrow and moved to correct Delphine Carrow's wand movements before she blew up the room. "I don't know any fairytales," he said, once he was back to Harriet's side.

"Me neither, but with the dark arts it's always a sad story."

Riddle let out a snort. Harriet was sure it was the most undignified thing she'd ever seen him do.

"Please, spare me the childish sentiment. Magic goes beyond the anecdotes that surround its uses; it is raw power," Riddle fixed her with an intense stare as he continued his rant. "The truth about the dark arts is that most of its users are not fit to practice them. That's why you hear so many, ah, _sad_ stories about it. Give a man a pencil and he can make a beautiful drawing, give a mentally disturbed man a pencil and he can gouge your eyes out."

"Okay, then tell me the name of at least one dark wizard who wasn't consumed by madness or something along those lines."

Riddle smiled wolfishly at her. "Albus Dumbledore".

She gaped at him. "What are you even talking about? Dumbledore isn't a dark wizard!"

"Oh, you don't know," a voice came from her right, and she turned to see a fourth year Hufflepuff she'd never seen before. He was a petite boy with gentle gray eyes. "Back in his youth Dumbledore was a close friend of Gellert Grindelwald," he said, and out of the corner of her eye Harriet saw that other people had stopped to listen to the conversation. Some of them were nodding, "they trained together."

"The only reason Dumbledore was able to defeat Grindelwald was because he knew exactly the sort of magic he worked with," a Ravenclaw boy in her year said. "Although that little detail was omitted by pretty much everyone once he defeated him."

Harriet felt as if someone had punched her in the guts. She couldn't believe it… Dumbledore, a _dark wizard?_ It certainly went against everything she'd ever known about the man… not that she knew much, if she had to be honest. She felt a bit cheated about that, since the old man seemed to know everything that happened in her life but she didn't know anything about his past.

"Having second thoughts, Harriet?" whispered Riddle in her ear, and she was once brought back to reality. She looked around and saw that the students were beginning to leave, including the Ravenclaw boy and the soft-eyed Hufflepuff from before.

"I…" she started, but she was unsure as to what she could say. _The only reason Dumbledore was able to defeat Grindelwald was because he knew exactly the sort of magic he worked with_. The words once again echoed in her mind. She took a look at his nemesis, who was smirking at her, and wondered if she wasn't going about the whole thing in the wrong way.

"I am, in fact," she said, and tried to ignore the pleasure in Riddle's unflinching stare. "I'll be back next Tuesday."

With her admission into Riddle's merry band of dark wizards in training, she found that she'd apparently upgraded her status of "forgettable annoyance" to "new cool kid in town". She wasn't allowed to eat her meals with the undignified proletariat of the student body anymore, as she was whisked away by Riddle or one of his cohorts for every meal that required her presence in the Great Hall.

"Evans," came the greeting of one Abraxas Malfoy as she entered the Great Hall. She greeted him in return, and figured that she might as well follow him to his house's table, since Riddle wouldn't let her eat anywhere else. "I was surprised to find that you and Rowle were not dating," the blond said as they both sat at the end of the table. They were the first from their group to arrive.

"Huh?" she said, eyeing him with a bewildered look. "Why would I date Rowle?"

Malfoy chuckled. "Exactly," he said. "He's just a seventh generation pureblood, and while he's a good duelist, he's hardly accomplished in anything else. His family is barely wealthy enough to be considered _respectable_. I would've questioned your judgment had you fancied him."

"Malfoy, I know this may come as a shock for you," Harriet said, as if she was speaking to a small child. "But not everyone likes people on the basis of how wealthy or powerful they are."

The pureblood gave her a strange smile. "Tell me about it," he said, earning a questioning stare from the Girl-Who-Lived. "Oh, you fancy a poor girl with no family connections of her own?" she said, grabbing a toast from a plate near her. "That's oddly… romantic."

"You think so?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her. "You're using the wrong knife."

She belatedly realized that he hadn't corrected her. _So he really fancies someone he shouldn't… wonder what Lucius and Draco would think about that_, she thought as she applied some jam on her toast. "As long as it does its job," she said, and she felt Malfoy's hands on her own. He took the knife from her, and grabbed another one with a wider blade. As he put the knife on her hand she realized how close they were.

"Oi, Abraxas!" yelled Ignatius Yaxley as he sat in front of them. Harriet felt the blond Slytherin edge away from her, as if nothing had happened, and wondered what that had been about. "Heard the news? Rowle's gotten himself a sweetheart."

"Really?" he drawled, "who's the unlucky girl?"

"Meredith Bones, that Hufflepuff chit," Yaxley laughed nastily, pouring himself some coffee. "You're out of luck Evans, their parents are pushing to get a marriage out of it."

"That's a bit... rushed?" Harriet said, feeling no amount of grief over it. She had never liked Rowle that way, although she admitted he was pleasing to the eyes.

"That bloke is cursed," said the soft voice of Breogan Lestrange. Harriet looked at the dark-haired boy inquisitively, but it was Abraxas who answered her.

"His grandfather and father died in mysterious circumstances. There's a rumor going on about a feud between his family and a French pureblood line, and it's said that the first-born males are destined to die before they reach their thirties. "

"Oh," she simply said, feeling a bit bad about the blond Ravenclaw.

"You really are gullible," Yaxley commented, and the three Slytherins around her laughed. She blushed, trying not to choke on her toast as she thought of what to say to defend herself.

"H-hey!" she managed to say, "How was I supposed to know that wasn't true?"

"The fact that a Slytherin tells you should be enough," Abraxas said, "although you would know better if you knew anything about society. Sadly, you're a peasant."

"A peasant!" Yaxley echoed, laughing. Sometimes he reminded her of a hyena.

"Well, Malfoy, excuse me for ruining your day with my peasant ways" she said, unapologetic. "You'll not see me misuse another knife in my life."

"On the contrary, it is rather entertaining," he said, looking pointedly at her. She felt like she was having a déjà vu. "I rather like being entertained."

"She still doesn't get it," exclaimed Lestrange in wonder, and Harriet looked at him like he'd grown two heads. What was he talking about? "Abraxas, she doesn't have a clue."

"A clue about what?"

"I'm flirting with you, Evans," said Malfoy with a sigh. Harriet looked back and forth between the two Slytherins, and decided she wouldn't even attempt to name the game they were playing. The blond picked up on her cluelessness, and tried to be as forward as his parents had taught him not to be.

"Evans, I like you."

Oh. _Oh. _Harriet felt the heat rise to her cheeks. "B-but…"

"Abraxas gets off on girls kicking his ass in duels," Yaxley said. The boy in question glared at him.

"I don't get off on that sort of thing, thank you very much," he said, clearly flustered.

"But that duel turned you on," Yaxley continued, scandalizing the already flushed pureblood. He looked at Harriet, wiggling his eyebrows at her in a suggestive way. "Miss, it was a miracle that you left with your virtue intact that day."

As Yaxley stopped speaking, his nose began to grow, rapidly turning into the most sickening combination of purple, green and yellow Harriet had ever seen. Boils began to rapidly emerge, grow and explode, leaving a disgusting trail of pus behind. The Girl-Who-Lived pushed her breakfast to the side, suddenly not that hungry anymore.

"You better remember how _varied_ is my repertoire of spells, Yaxley" Malfoy said with a sneer. The other boy left in a hurry, presumably to the infirmary.

"Wasn't that a bit harsh?" Harriet asked, looking at the jinxed boy's retreating back.

"He's used to it," answered Lestrange with a shrug.

Harriet turned back to her discarded breakfast, and was suddenly aware that other than the four of them, none of their little group had arrived. She stole a quick glance at the other tables, looking for the students outside of Slytherin that were under Riddle's wing, and found them missing as well. _That's suspicious_, she thought, before Abraxas once more took one of her hands.

"Evans, now that the circumstances are different," he said, looking smug and arrogant as always even though Harriet noted a faint trace of nervousness, "would you accompany me to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

"As long as you don't challenge me to a duel, sure" she said.

The irony of Draco's _grandpapa_ asking her out was such an amusement for her, she completely forgot the absence of Riddle and his cohorts that day.

"You have a thing with blonds, I think" chirped the voice of Lucretia from the bed next to hers. "First Rowle, now Malfoy. You certainly move on to greater prospects."

"What?" Harriet asked, her blush lost in the dark. "I just agreed to go with them to Hogsmeade, where's the big fuss in that?"

"I don't think she likes them blond, I think she likes them _bad,_" said another of her roommates, Carmilla, ignoring Harriet's questions. "I mean, you're pretty chummy with Riddle. You certainly like hanging out with the bad boys."

"Bad boys?" the green-eyed girl tried to stop herself from laughing. Oh, they were bad boys all right, but in an entirely different way than these girls thought.

"Yeah, everyone knows they're up to something; something big," Carmilla continued. "Something that goes beyond Hogwarts. They're all so mysterious and edgy about it, it's kind of hot actually."

_You think that torturing and killing innocent people is 'kinda hot', Carmilla?_ Harriet thought, feeling utterly sick at the idea. Although she knew the girl didn't really understand what she was talking about nor could hope to know that the girl lying in a bed next to her was one of the victims of that _' big something'_, she still felt angered by her words.

"You're in, right?" Lucretia suddenly said. "You're in whatever Riddle's planning."

"I certainly hope not," Harriet answered honestly.

"Then why does he go out of his way to include you in his group?" asked the other girl, her voice betraying her jealousy. "You're not among the best in class, like those Ravenclaws he keeps around. You don't have family connections, like the Slytherins or some of the Gryffindors. You don't have any special ability like the Hufflepuffs he talks to. _Why_ is he so interested in you?"

"He wants something from me," was the only answer she got.

"I'm convinced that one of these days, Riddle, you're not going to even let me go to the bathroom on my own," said Harriet tiredly, as he let herself be dragged to the seat in front of the class. The gesture was somewhat familiar, and as she'd let Hermione seat her fifty years into the future, now she let the future Dark Lord maneuver her around. "Is it really necessary for me to stay around you all the time? I swear, I feel like you're the annoying boyfriend I never had."

Riddle arched an eyebrow at that. "I'll be sure to inform Abraxas, so he knows what behavior to avoid in the future."

"B-but we're not dating!" she spluttered. "Geez, why does everybody think that I'm going to marry him after one date?"

"So you don't like him, then," Riddle said, matter-of-factly, and before Harriet could ask him how he arrived at that conclusion he explained. "I've seen most girls giggle and blush when confronted to the idea of a possible future with their intended mates. You reacted with righteous indignation, which leads me to believe you're not interested in him."

"How would I know? I don't really know him," Harriet answered. "In fact, I don't really _know_ anyone in Hogwarts, except for…" _you_, she caught herself before she revealed more than she should.

"Except for?" asked Riddle with an inquisitive expression, but Harriet wasn't fooled. He knew that she'd meant to say him.

"You know," she said. He chuckled, and as Dumbledore entered the classroom he whispered in her ear, "then I think you should grant me one date."

Unlike the previous times, there was little publicity to her date with Riddle. She admitted that she hadn't really thought about what she was doing when she agreed… something had come over her, and she'd impulsively said a breathy _yes_. Now she was trying to find a logical reason as to why she should meet him in the dark of the night in the secluded Astronomy tower, but there was something telling her in the back of her mind that it didn't really mater. Excuse or not, she'd be there. She actually _wanted_ to spend time with him.

The thought worried her more and more, as she rolled around the word in her mind. _Wanted_. She'd always given little thought as to what she wanted in life; it'd always been a matter of what she _had_ to do. If the world needed saving, she had to save it, even if all she wanted was to hide behind the robes of the wizards around her. She'd put aside fear, desire, jealousy, love, anger, hate… all for the will of the Greater Good. Now that she was conflicted once more by what she felt she had to do versus what she wanted to do, it was harder for her to act in the same careless way as she'd done over the years.

She _had_ to go back to her time. She had to study the book Dumbledore had given her so she could try and figure out a way for her to go back. She _wanted_ to stay in this carefree time, before Voldemort and the war, before the danger and grief. She wanted to go out with Riddle and look into the compelling dark eyes and wish for them not to turn into the scalding scarlet that haunted her dreams.

So for the first time in her life, she did exactly as she desired.

"For someone who has a dark wizard after them, you're awfully trusting," Riddle said as way of greeting. "I could do as I desired right now, and you wouldn't be able to lift a finger against me."

"I thought you were trying to prove me that not all dark wizards were blood-thirsty serial killers."

Riddle inclined his head. "Touché. But then again, I never dared to side myself with either of them. Blood-thirsty or sane, as you'd say."

Harriet regarded him warily, and moved to sit on the stone bench in front of the window. "Rowle ran away with his bride the day I was asked by Malfoy to go to Hogsmeade with him. As soon as that liaison was over, you asked me for a date. What are you playing at, Riddle?"

"You're surprisingly clever at the most unexpected of times, Harriet," the prefect said as he sat beside her. His eyes were fixed on the stars beyond the window. "Let's say that I wanted for someone to secure you, since a girl's loyalty tends to stray where her heart is, what would you make of it?"

"Besides the fact that what you said was incredibly sexist, I'd say that you got Rowle in your first try. But he fell for another girl, so you had to change him for Malfoy. But since he's near his coming-of-age, he's going to be married off to some wealthy pureblood girl, and then figured out that instead of sending another lackey to ask me out you could do it yourself."

"Nice try," he said with a small chuckle. "But I think you're underestimating your charm. Rowle had become too attached to you, so he had to go. Malfoy did, as well, but his usefulness exceeds Rowle's. I couldn't just send him away, so I simply had a small chat with him."

Harriet frowned. "But wouldn't it be better then, with Rowle feeling attached…?"

She turned to look at Riddle, when she suddenly found him closer than she'd expected him to be. Her face was barely inches away from his, as he cornered her in the small bench.

"_I admit I am a bit possessive,_" he hissed, and for the second time took her mouth in his.

It was a short, passionate kiss. Like a man deprived of water for too long, Riddle went for her lips like it was the nectar of life itself. The intensity of it made Harriet feel a bit light-headed, her small hands reaching out to grasp the Slytherin prefect's neatly styled curls. Unlike her first time, Harriet felt the stirrings of something below her navel… she certainly found more delight in the battle they raged against each other now than the last time, where they had simply locked lips in a one-sided sneak attack. Her response to him both surprised and worried her. In a way, it was as if…

_Oh no… _she thought with horror as she came to the realization that she actually _liked_ Riddle. She certainly felt attracted to him, as her wandering hands and trembling heart could attest, and she tolerated his presence to the point of not reaching for her wand to hex him more than once a day.

She tried to regain some semblance of calm within her mind, and moved away from Riddle. "That doesn't explain your insistence," she said between breaths. She was more flustered than she'd thought she should be. Suddenly she realized they'd shifted their positions as she was now leaning on the pillar on the right side of the bench, Riddle's legs straddling her as he loomed over her.

"Insistence?" the prefect casually asked, as if he hadn't been just snogging the living daylights out of her.

"You want something from me," said Harriet, remembering her small talk with Lucretia not long ago. "I want to know what that is."

She felt Riddle stiffen as he sat on her legs, and she knew that she'd poked her nose right into his Endgame. He'd made it clear to her that he wanted her on his side and that he'd tried to gain her loyalty by making her falling in love with one of his minions, and failing that with himself. But what for? It wasn't just her abilities or her speaking parseltongue. This was Riddle she was talking about; seduction was something just too personal for him. _Too desperate_.

"You annoy me Harriet," he said then. "My plans never seem to work when it concerns you," the girl stifled a giggle when she thought about how much truth he'd find in those words in fifty years.

"You should do the opposite, then" she said. "Do what you think wouldn't work."

He sighed, and the humanity of it took Harriet aback. "Very well. I learned that you were a time-traveller. I want to know the secrets of the future."

Now it was her turn to sigh. "Oh, that was strangely predictable," she said as an idea began to form in her mind. "I think… we may be able to do something about that."

His dark stare was immediately fixed on her, hungrily drinking the minute changes in her expression as she came to a decision. "Riddle, I am in need of your genius to get back," she said, "I'll pay you with information about the future. My only condition is that I can't be specific, for obvious reasons. No dates, no names, no detailed accounts of anything."

"We have a deal," he said with the same inhumane smile she'd seen him put on when he was demonstrating a particularly nasty dark curse in their study sessions. It made her feel like she'd just struck a deal with the devil.

"_Is it true then, that a dark wizard was after you_?" Riddle had taken to greeting her with questions instead of the usual, polite _hello_. He'd also taken to speaking to her in parseltongue at random, something that unnerved her roommates to no end.

"_Yes,_" she said, simply, and kept writing down notes, occasionally looking to the book in her lap for reference. With Riddle's help, she'd managed to find out exactly _when_ it'd be best for her to leave. Now they were trying to work out the best way to activate the magic that'd send her back.

"Thurisaz is for protecting or warding," Riddle commented as he sat next to her, glancing at her notes. "It'd only help to keep you here."

"But what if I use it with, ah," she glanced down at the runes scribbled on her papers, "ur and raido?"

"Journey and water…" Riddle murmured silently. "Why water?"

"Well, water is the universal conduit… so I thought it might help to establish the way between then and now?" she scratched her head, and looked into Riddle's eyes. He was watching her with avid attention. "I thought that Thurisaz might prevent external magic from interfering with the ritual."

Harriet had found that Riddle used to smile only when something went according to his expectations, when he wanted something from someone or when he was being patronizing. There was no kindness to his smile. On the other hand, when he got the serious look he was sporting as she told him of her runic musings, it meant that he was taking her seriously; that something she said caught his attention. It was the closest way he had of saying "good work".

"It has merit," he said and took the paper from her hands, rapidly writing down a series of runes, most of which she'd never seen before. When he finished, she thought she might as well have a tablet with hieroglyphics in her hands. "This is a more refined version, but it follows the same principle. Now the only thing we need is something that'll serve as a doorway of sorts, as the book said."

Harriet tried to think about what might constitute a good 'doorway', when she found that Riddle's hand was resting on her thigh. She felt the tale-tell sign of a blush on her face. "Getting familiar with me, aren't you?" she managed to say.

"Why, I thought we were dating. Isn't this what one does in a date?"

"I thought you wouldn't think it was necessary anymore," Harriet bit out, trying to fight the fluttering in her stomach. _I am not acting like a schoolgirl with a crush around baby Voldemort_, she thought, trying to quench the pleasure she felt at his stroking the side of her thigh with his thumb.

"Surprisingly enough, I've grown rather fond of you," he said, and if it hadn't been Riddle saying it, she might've melted. "Do we meet again in the future?"

"Yes," she said, feeling like a bucket of cold water had fallen on her head. The question reminded her that even though he seemed like a more _humane_ Voldemort, this was still the same boy that would grow up to become the most powerful dark wizard in centuries.

"I take it that it wasn't a pleasant meeting, from your initial impression of me."

"You have not been… kind to me and my loved ones," she said, slowly. "And you have a pretty fearsome reputation."

Riddle didn't answer, and Harriet wondered if anything she did or said right now could alter the future. Why hadn't Voldemort ever mentioned this meeting in the past? Granted, she'd only seen him in the flesh thrice; the first time she was a baby, the second she was too young for him to have recognized her, and the last time she thought he had more pressing matters in mind to have a little chat about that one time he'd completely ravished her in the Astronomy tower in 1948.

She also wondered about the information she'd already given him. For the most part he'd asked her completely unassuming questions; ranging from government and politics to her life style and pop culture. He didn't really understand what sort of insight he could get from that, but Riddle's mind was on a completely different category. Insane as he was, he was still a bloody genius.

"I would like to become intimate with you before you part," he suddenly said, and Harriet thought she might die of a heart attack. Shock ran through her veins as she processed the fact that _Tom Riddle_ had asked her, _Harriet Potter_, to engage in sexual intercourse.

"Do you want to… _fuck_?" she said, clenching her fingers as her traitorous body answered to the images that began to play in her head. Riddle's soft curls, his smooth pale skin against hers, dark eyes devoid of any blood incensed with lust, mouth on mouth as their magic intertwined together…

"I believe that's what I said, paraphrased by a dwarf of low caste."

The only thing that held her back from snatching and taking him to the nearest broom closet was the moral implications of losing her virginity to a young Voldemort. As it was, her hormone-addled brain was finding it incredibly difficult to remember why that was a very bad idea.

"You're doubting because of some sort of moral dilemma," he observed as her emotions flashed one after the other on her expressive face. "My, I must be the very incarnation of evil in your time if you're so against it."

"Kind of," she said, her voice thick with something she didn't dare pronounce. He took her hand in his, and once again she wondered if she could change anything in the future by changing the past.

"Miss Evans, it is nice to see you," she waved at Dumbledore as he approached her. "I was wondering if I could have a word with you?"

"Sure," she said, and they began walking side by side towards the lake. The weather was becoming warmer as cold February gave way to March, and the students were taking breaks from studying to enjoy the fields around Hogwarts. Harriet was no exception.

"It brings me joy to see that you've adapted to the life in the castle in this time," Dumbledore said. "I must confess that I was worried about you in the beginning, since you seemed to be sullen all the time."

"Was I?" Harriet inquired, no small amount of curiosity laced in her voice. She knew she'd been upset by her ordeal, but not to the point of having people notice it.

"Yes, although I admit that I've found it more noticeable now that you seem to have adopted a more cheerful disposition," he answered with a small smile. "Love tends to do that to people."

Harriet was proud she'd managed not to stumble. _He didn't imply what I think…_ she tried to convince herself. He couldn't really believe she was in love with Tom Riddle, right? After all, not many in the student body had noticed their closeness. _And we aren't dating in the first place_, she thought, a bit more sullenly than she'd have liked.

"L-love, professor?"

"Oh, yes, I'm afraid your brief liaisons with Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Rowle were the talk of the entire castle," he chuckled. "One of the most curious things about Hogwarts is that living in a boarding school for an entire year tends to make every single piece of news exciting, so naturally you'd find that most are more prone to gossip than one would think at first."

"That's… strangely disturbing," Harriet felt a bit embarrassed that her _teachers_ were talking about her love life. Dumbledore laughed heartily at her expression, but said nothing else. They came to a stop as they got closer to the Forbidden Forest. Harriet could see the place where the Whomping Willow would be planted from their position.

"I'll have to be honest with you, Miss Evans, if you'll pardon this old man and his prying," Dumbledore said, and Harriet turned to face him. "I am worried about your relationship with Mr. Riddle. I have an inkling that whatever will become of him, it'll not be good. The way you treated him at the beginning of the year said as much."

"I…" Harriet was unsure as to what she should say. Did she know how dangerous he was? Yes. Could she stop herself from feeling butterflies in the pit of her stomach every time he looked at her? No.

"You're young, Harriet," Dumbledore said softly. "Your heart is impressionable, even though your mind seems to have faced the most imaginable hardships. Although I don't doubt Mr. Riddle is capable of showing appreciation for a fellow human being, he's far too damaged to feel love."

Harriet felt a flare of anger at her professor's words. What did he know about _damage_? How could he make such a judgment, when she knew there was practically little dialogue between the both of them? How could he presume to _know_ about Riddle, when the girl who had been able to see through his eyes was standing in front of him?

"Excuse me, professor," she said, "but what makes you say that? Yes, he's cold, he's calculating… power-hungry and remorseless. By many standards he's a _monster_. "

Harriet felt she was onto something as she said her next words, "but if there's something I've learnt in this little trip is that he's capable of love."

_Could she change the future by altering the past?_

"My apologies, Miss Evans," the old man said with a sad smile. "I admit that Riddle reminds me too much of a boy I once knew, and I don't want you to make the same mistake I did."

As she looked at the dark-haired youth seating next to her, she wondered if there was any truth to the words she'd spoken to the future headmaster. Riddle might feel a bit of affection towards her, of that she was almost sure; but affection and love were two entirely different things. She was sure it was a feeling born out of a sense of possessiveness, given her ability to speak the snake tongue, and her usefulness, as demonstrated by his desire to include her in his group and the little chase he'd gave her to have her spill the secrets from the future she came from.

It was a very twisted way of feeling for someone, but that was the deal with Riddle. Things weren't as simple when it came to him.

He looked from his parchment to the book he was reading, and bit his lip. The gesture caught her by surprise, and she felt entranced by how _careless_ it was. Everything about the other boy was always carefully staged; his movements always spoke of refinement and utmost elegance. To see him with his guard down, indulging in unconscious ticks made her feel warm.

"I didn't think you were one to indulge in lovesick staring," he said, without looking away from his notes.

"It's hardly lovesick, but I like to stare at people who are pleasant-looking," she answered, almost without realizing the honest compliment she was paying him.

"Is that so?" he looked up, catching her stare with his own. "You're evaluating the dynamics of our relationship," he said, as he was prone to do when Harriet did something he didn't entirely understand.

"I am," she admitted. "It never ceases to amaze me..." at the inquisitive raise of his eyebrows, she explained, "I'd thought you were nothing but a monster when I came here. I was ready to hate you, but somehow I found that you were not only a monster, but human as well and now I feel torn between what I should do and what I want to do."

Riddle frowned. "Why are you disassociating both courses of action? Why do you feel that what you want to do is not what you should do?"

"Morals," she answered simply.

"Unstable guides of actions depending on the context and the company," he said with no small amount of annoyance. "You follow the morals of your time, but this is 1948. You're not in the same place with the same people."

She sensed some truth behind his words. After all, this wasn't the same man who had murdered her parents and Cedric Diggory; this wasn't the man who had led her into the Ministry of Magic with fake visions. She touched his arm, and briefly planted a kiss on his lips.

_What if what I want to do is what I should do?_

"Here it is!"

The joyful exclamation of the boy beside her brought her from her musings on time traveling, and she found herself matching the static smile Riddle was giving her. She could feel his excitement rolling off him in waves. "I solved the equation and reduced the parameters to your case," he breathed, and Harriet was stricken with how beautiful he looked when he had that boyish smile in his face. Before she could think about what she was doing, she tackled him to the ground and enveloped him in a tight hug.

When she felt a tentative arm wrap around her shoulders, she looked up and found herself staring into the pensive eyes of the Slytherin prefect. "I've never been hugged before," he slowly said, and squeezed her a little harder against him, as if he was testing something. The action made her insides quiver.

"Does it feel nice?" she asked. There was something hungry in his dark gaze; something that she felt herself mirroring in her own expression.

"Yes," he breathed, and maneuvered the both of them so she'd be sitting in her lap. As her hungry lips met his, Harriet felt as if the world itself came crashing down around them; little specks of reality dissolving in a mad dance in the background. She found there was little she could think outside of the way their skin met and how much she needed that friction. No war, no worries, no future; it was them entangled in each other's limbs in the Room of Requirement.

She let out a gasp as he buried his head on her neck, leaving on his wake a trail of angry red bites. She found herself reaching for his hair, pulling, tugging, trying to find something to hold onto as he brought her in and out of reality, one bite at the time. She moaned, trying to push him off her as she felt _hunger_ in a way she'd never done before.

He was surprised by her strength as _he_ became the one trapped in the other's embrace; she was in control now, and with a surprised gasp he felt he did not mind. She was marking him; her small hands carving paths in his body like a ritual. And it was a ritual, he idly wondered, as skin met skin and her soft breasts pressed against his pale chest; it was a mad ritual, and their magic filled the air, sparks igniting and dying in the air above them as the pressure, the _need_, increased.

"_More,_" he hissed, climbing on top of her; modesty forgotten. He held her wrists in his hand, and if he applied just a little bit of pressure he could snap them; if he used just a little bit of magic he could break her… and the temptation was sweet, but it wasn't as sweet as the needy moan that came out of her mouth. She trashed against him as he entered her; pain and pleasure intertwining together in her green, sparkling stare. He lost himself in the half-lidded eyes, thinking that he was making love to more than a woman; she was the stars, the sky, _power, magic itself. _

She was crying out now, feeling no other way of relieving the pleasure, of rebelling against that intense need that made her cry out _more! Harder! Faster!_ Because even in spite of the searing pain, she felt like she was flying high; and like Icarus she reached the top and it wasn't her wings that melt, but her whole body. And down she went, taking Tom with her. Down, and down and down, spiraling downwards until they were both panting against each other; once again Harriet and Tom.

"That was…" she said, "something else."

"I… I don't want to do this," she caught herself saying as Riddle and she worked on the circle where they'd perform the ceremonial magic that'd send her back to her time. The Slytherin stopped to stare at her. Harriet wanted nothing more than to remain here, where there was Tom and no Voldemort, intrigues but not war; pain but not death. She knew, however, that this wasn't her place, that her going back to the future was not optional.

"I want to stay here with you," she said, naked longing in her eyes. She saw Riddle's stare soften, and it made it all the more difficult to steel her resolve. "I hate this," she looked down to the finished circle. She sighed and took the steps towards the center, being careful not to step on the painted runes on the floor, still fresh with her blood.

"I'd ask you to stay," he murmured as he joined her in the center of the circle, "but it's irrelevant what either of us wants. You should not be here..." he took her chin in his hands. "I find some solace in the thought that we'll meet again."

At that, Harriet felt like crying.

"Me too," she said, and felt as if her heart was shattering in a thousand pieces. She looked at her watch and knew it wouldn't be too long before the circle was activated, so she planted a brief kiss on Tom's mouth. "Goodbye Tom," she said.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself in the desolated Atrium, in the Ministry of Magic. Her mind buzzed with questions as she tried to take in whatever details she could use to figure out if she had arrived to 1995. In the distance she could hear screaming, and was hit by the sudden idea that maybe she had succeeded… to the point where she'd actually travelled to the very same day she'd left.

"Aw, but if it isn't baby Potter," a mocking voice echoed in the quiet of the large hall, and Harriet strained her eyes to make out the figure of Bellatrix Lestrange, slowly approaching her with a mad grin on her face. "We were all looking for you, darling… we were getting quite bored with your friends," she said sinisterly, and Harriet felt her anger get the best of her.

"You bitch…!" she said, as the mad Bellatrix laughed at her. Harriet took a step forward the woman, and waved her wand in a familiar pattern. "Fuerit dissolutum!" she yelled, feeling as if Tom was once again behind her, guiding her hand in the right way.

Bellatrix's eyes widened and she conjured a small dog to take her place as she avoided the spell. "Ooh, Saint Potter is not so holy after all!" she said, taking a few steps towards the Girl-Who-Lived. Harriet regarded her warily, and waited for her to make the next move.

"The thing about the dark arts, dear," the deranged woman said, "is that the more you mean it, the more powerful the curse is. Let me show you," she raised her wand and Harriet steeled herself. "_Crucio!_"

The green-eyed girl was about to jump out of the curse's way when she found herself behind the protection of one of the sculptures that'd adorned the fountain at the center of the Atrium. The rock giant barely felt it as the dark spell made a dent in its hard skin. Harriet looked around to find her savior, when a cold, high voice spoke.

"I thought I'd made myself perfectly clear, Bellatrix, when I said that the girl _is mine_."

Harriet felt she really _really_ could've done without Voldemort's presence at that particular time.

"Master," she whimpered, turning from the fearsome madwoman into a kicked puppy. "I'm sorry, I was just trying to teach her."

Harriet felt a stab of pain in her scar, and saw Voldemort appear in a cloud of black smoke a few steps behind his minion.

"She has had better teachers than you could ever hope to be, Bellatrix," he hissed, and Harriet felt her stomach drop. _He remembers_, she thought. "Run back to the Department of Mysteries, and take your fellow Death Eaters back to the manor. There are matters of more importance that we are to attend."

The woman nodded with tears in her eyes and with a reverence, she made her way out of the atrium. Harriet stood, peeking out from behind the stone giant at Voldemort. With a start, she realized he had vanished… before a familiar voice said behind her, "I think you and I have some things to discuss."

Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, an arm sneaked around her waist and she felt as if she was being squeezed inside a tube. As soon as it had started it was over, and she felt thankful for the arm that was now holding her as she steadied herself. She looked around the room they were now in; it was a dingy little place, familiar in all its faded glory. The arm around her disappeared, and she turned to face Lord Voldemort.

"This… this is your father's house, isn't it?" she asked, recognizing the place from the dreams she had in the summer before her fourth year. With a start she realized she felt _something_ in her mind, something that she'd never realized she was missing during her stay in the past. The mental link between them was back, and she could feel Voldemort's faded emotions through it if she concentrated hard enough.

"It is," he said, his intense red eyes studying her face. "I had a very curious thing happen to me as I was waiting for my Death Eaters to complete their mission," his voice betrayed nothing, but Harriet knew, somehow, that he was feeling as confused as she felt right now. That, and the fact that he hadn't killed her yet, gave her a slimmer of hope. "I remembered," he continued, "something from my days at Hogwarts, something that had been obscured from my mind. The presence of a time traveler, protected by the magic that whisked her away."

"Thurisaz," she breathed. "Thurisaz protected the timeline… it made you forget me."

"_Yess…_" he hissed, and Harriet thought that in his current incarnation the sound made him seem all the more sinister. "_I am the incarnation of evil you feared, after all,_" he said with a small chuckle. "_I took your parents away from you; I've plotted single-mindedly to kill you…_" Harriet nodded, anxious to hear his next words. "_Yet, in spite of this you…_"

"_I fell in love with you,_" Harriet interrupted him. Voldemort's eyes shone as she used the snake tongue, and in their scarlet depths the girl found the boy she'd come to feel for.

"_Why?_"

"_I… don't know,"_ Harriet said, sighing. _"I just know that even now, knowing what you've done and who you are… I can't help it," _she wrapped her arms around her. "_I feel like I'm betraying everyone who's fought for me, but if I try to ignore it, I feel like I'm betraying myself._"

She almost missed the spidery, elegant hand that came to rest against her forehead. His skin was rough and cold to the touch, but she realized she didn't mind. There was no searing pain as before; only soft warmth that spread from the scar in her forehead to the rest of her body. She gave a contented sigh at the touch, and took Voldemort's wrist in her hands.

"_You are aware that I sent those visions to you so you could get a prophecy for me,_" he said, and Harriet nodded, her memories of the night, which were so distant to her, coming back in a rush to the forefront of her mind. "_Before coming to get you, I went to the hall of prophecies. Amongst the rubble I found the place where it was meant to be. There was no inscription in the plate._"

Harriet opened her eyes, unaware that she'd closed them. "_The prophecy is gone?_"

"_Yes, erased from the flow of time,_" he said. "_Are you aware of its contents?_"

Harriet took a step back, mouthing a small _no_ as she shook her head.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. … Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies_," he recited and it suddenly dawned on her that the prophecy was the reason he'd tried to kill her as a child.

She looked at him wide-eyed, shocked at the revelation that everything that had happened in her life up until her time travelling stunt, had happened because of a bloody prophecy. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, "I'm so glad we trashed the place."

Voldemort chuckled, "That is not enough to cancel the power of a prophecy, but I'm sure that those who like us were bound by the whims of a seer will appreciate the sentiment."

Harriet looked for a place to sit, and grabbing the nearest armchair she sunk in its dusty comfort. "Does this mean that we're no longer bound by this prophecy?"

"You could say that fate will no longer arrange events in a way that'll make us necessarily cross paths," he said, his voiced laced with something Harriet couldn't discern. "Are you aware of where you're sitting?"

Harriet looked at the chair, and the memory of a child-like Voldemort came to her mind. "That was impressive, you know," she said. "The ritual, the way you recovered your body. Utterly disgusting as well, but it was very impressive magic."

Voldemort arched an eyebrow and conjured himself a throne-like chair to sit in front of her. "It seems like I've finally managed to change your opinion on the dark arts."

"Maybe. Then again, maybe my opinion on the dark arts stemmed from my opinion of you and we're both aware of how that has changed."

The dark wizard gave her a look that made her feel like a school girl with a crush, and she idly wondered if it was sane to feel this way about a man sixty years older than her. Even in spite of his current visage, which was more of a reminder of what he had done and what he was, she wanted nothing more than to mark every inch of his neck with her lips. She was aware that whatever she tried to do now, she'd be doing it with Voldemort, not Tom Riddle. Her heart, however, cared little for the distinction.

"I... " The dark lord said softly, "I have also thought about this matter. I've found that since my memories returned, I loathe the idea of any harm coming to you," at this Harriet's breath caught in her throat. "I admit I've never cared much for emotions… but as I'm here now in front of you, I think more clearly than ever before, I feel more _powerful_ than ever before."

The man made a pause, as if he himself couldn't believe what he was about to say.

"I want you by my side, Harriet."

Harriet's heart ached at his words. Her lips gave way to a bittersweet smile. "I… want you by my side, as well," she admitted. "But we stand in two different sides… and as sweet as this is, you're still my parents' murderer. I cannot simply go with you."

Voldemort nodded, expecting her words. "I am willing to compromise," he said, "but that's a talk for another occasion."

They both stood, facing each other once more. "You should head back to Hogwarts," he said, cradling her face in one of his hands. "We'll see each other in the summer," he conjured a small bracelet in the form of a snake, and put it in her hand. "_Portus,_" he whispered, and activated the portkey.

She looked up just in time to catch the red stare of Voldemort – but was surprised to find the familiar black eyes of Tom Riddle in its place.

As she fell with an undignified squeak in the same clearing where Rowle and she had dueled, she figured that she'd got her answer. _Nurture over nature. _She'd proved Dumbledore wrong.

**Note**: finally got around to revising it. Please take note that I don't work under the premise that genderbending is just changing a character's genitals. Thus, a female Harry is in some ways different from a male Harry; in my opinion she'd naturally gravitate more towards Hermione than towards Ron. Just like in cannon Ron's disregard for homework eventually rubbed off on Harry, I believe that Hermione's love for her studies would've made an impact on Harriet.

I've also received a –rather short- review pointing out that Harriet might be a Mary Sue. I acknowledge it may seem so because she defeats a dueling champion and has three boys after her – but it's all because of a reason. Harriet learnt how to fight. Rowle and Abraxas learnt how to duel. This issue also appeared in the books – Harry had superb skills at Defense Against the Dark Arts because he _had to_. In this fic, Harriet shows exceptional skill when fighting _because she's survived a three wizard tournament, battled dementors, a basilisk and fled a Dark Lord and his Death Eaters_. And in my opinion, that should give you more skill points – in cannon Harry gets his own deus ex machina, in this AU Harriet is a bit more proficient at Defense than her male counterpart.

As for Rowle's and Malfoy's romantic interest, let's consider that it was _Riddle_ who originally gave them the orders to approach her. Since for Rowle, a Ravenclaw, Harriet represented an unknown, he tried to flirt with her if only to know more about the mysterious girl Riddle was so interested in. Malfoy, on the other hand, respects power. And when Harriet beat him, she proved herself in his eyes; so naturally, he took full advantage of the carte blanche Riddle was giving him at the time. The two of them backed down the moment they realized the charade was over, because not only they feared Riddle, but because they weren't really that interested anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Harriet stared at the words in front of her, but for the life of her she couldn't recall a single thing of what she'd read. The heat was unbearable in her small bedroom; the old fan her relatives had given her after they'd bought their expensive air conditioning set did nothing to help. The papers that littered the ground, the broken quills scattered her and there, the books that piled on the sides of the bed… the mess only served to aggravate her further. She felt hot and asphyxiated in the little cramped room, and certainly not in the mood to do any homework. _Besides, the holidays have just started_, she thought. _And I might turn into Hermione if I finish this _too_ early._

She decided to take a small shower to cool herself. As she stood under the showerhead, feeling like the cool spray of water on her sweaty skin was the gift of the Gods, she reviewed her decision to try and work on her homework as much as she could. She'd done it mostly to avoid thinking too much about what had happened at the end of the year, and what was coming this summer. During her little stunt in the past she'd attended sixth year classes, so she was reviewing concepts that seemed a little easy for her now. But it was a way to keep her mind busy, which was exactly what she needed now.

_The confused stares of her friends as she arrived at the infirmary. She wasn't a mind reader like Voldemort, but she knew the question going through their minds at the time. _Where were you?

She scrubbed her eyes, feeling the tell-tale sign of the crushing guilt she'd felt right then. _I had to lie to protect them. To protect everyone. To protect myself. _

She wasn't used to the word 'I'… _Is this selfish of me? Now that I truly want something, _someone_… it's like an all-consuming need, and I'm doing stuff I could've never thought I'd do._ Like lying to her friends. After arriving at Hogwarts, portkey discarded in the snow, her only thought was to check to see if everyone had arrived safely to the castle. So she went to the infirmary, before Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall or any Order member could stop her.

_She didn't stop to think about what she was seeing. She mindlessly counted the heads of the people she knew, and found that only Ron was missing. The questions then came tumbling out of her mouth, 'wher e is Ron?', 'is everyone all right?','what happened?'_

_It would be another hour before she got her answer, as the wrinkled hand of Albus Dumbledore fell on her shoulder, and she let herself be taken to the man's office._

"Girl! Have you drowned? You've been there for half an hour!" the shriek of her aunt Petunia came from outside the door. Harriet shook herself out of her stupor and turned the faucet off. "Yes, aunt Petunia," she replied. "I'll be out in a minute."

The park had never seemed gloomier. The clouds had gathered ominously in the sky, and she knew that the oppressing heat was just the first sign of the storm that was brewing above her head. She was alone, as most people had sought refuge in the comfort of their air-conditioned homes or in the privacy of the pools in their backyard. It suited her just fine. In the suburban paradise that was Privet Drive, she'd never been regarded as much more than a mere annoyance. Her aunt and uncle used her name to take out all of their frustrations; money was tight? It was the Potter girl's fault, and her never-ending spending. Dudley was doing badly in school? It was that Potter girl who made him nervous. Petunia had a dizzy spell? Potter.

It was understandable then that to the bored middle-aged mothers who littered the neighborhood, she was just the one little ugly spot ruining Petunia's perfect life. When she went out, whispering followed her along with turned up noses and disgusted sneers.

_Two people knew of what had happened. As she'd expected, the same veil that had lifted over Voldemort's memories had been also torn from Dumbledore's mind. She didn't know what she could say to the old man. She was in love, and her beau was the man who was terrorizing the wizarding world. She wished she just could've had more time to prepare to this. _

_But then the door to the headmaster's office opened, and a pair of inscrutable black eyes greeted her. She was taken aback by the familiarity of them; but this wasn't the distant, calculating gaze of her Tom. Severus Snape with all his cruelty and stoniness; standing just a few feet from the door._

_"Ah, Severus, I'd hoped you would be here by now" said Dumbledore amicably as he made his way to his desk. Harriet followed him, sitting herself on one of the chairs placed in front of him. She didn't understand what business Snape had being there, but she chose not to say anything. She'd long ago decided that her headmaster's mind worked in mysterious ways._

_"Lemon drop? No? Ah, a shame" the old wizard sighed in mock seriousness. His sparkling blue eyes soon turned serious. "I think it'd be best if you gave us your report first, Severus."_

_Snape looked between Dumbledore and Harriet, and said in his usual slow, quiet voice "I don't believe it is prudent to talk about these matters in front of Potter."_

_"Oh, but you see Severus, I suspect that Harriet might know much more than we do about the reasons behind Voldemort's sudden change of tactics."_

_The girl in question looked at the man with a frown in her face. What did he mean by 'change of tactics'? _

_"Very well," Snape said after a moment. "The Dark Lord called off the attack shortly after the Order arrived, and instructed the death eaters in the ministry to go back to his base. He then called the rest of us," at that Harriet gave him a dirty look. "He spoke of change; he said that something had happened, which had given him the key to success. He didn't specify what it was, he simply warned us to be prepared for what was coming."_

_Harriet looked intensely at the Death Eater in front of her, her green eyes scorching with unanswered questions and worry. Her mind was fixed on Tom, and what this meant. What was the man playing at? What did he mean by 'the key to success'? What had he learnt in the department that could give him such power? So lost was she in her thoughts, that she didn't notice the small gasp that came out of her potions teacher's mouth at her gaze. _

_"That's very interesting, Severus" said the headmaster, snapping both of them out of their reveries. "Very interesting, indeed…"_

_The aged man stood, and with his wand in hand he performed what Harriet knew to be the method to extract memories for a pensieve. A thin silver strand came out of his head, shimmering in the bright light of the office. Dumbledore walked the steps to the cabinet that held the urn with the rest of his memories, and dropped the memory inside the pensieve. As he looked at the ghostly liquid, Harriet heard him murmur "I wonder if…"_

_"Harriet," he said, closing the cabinet and turning to look at her once more. "I imagine that it was with Tom's help that you're now here among us."_

_"Yes," she said, ignoring the questioning glance of her potions professor. "I showed him the journal you gave me, and we both worked on making the ritual that'd send me back."_

_"Did Tom ever pose a problem for you in that regard?"_

_"What do you mean, professor?"_

_"We both know how possessive he is," Dumbledore chuckled. "I would think more likely of him to do the impossible not to let you go."_

_"Oh," Harriet said with a blush. "I simply told him we'd meet in the future. I guess he didn't care that much about the wait."_

_Dumbledore took a seat once again behind the desk, giving Severus a soft smile. "Ah, I fear that you're a bit lost, my friend. You see, Harriet here had a bit of an adventure this night. I'd tell the story myself, but I think she could do a better work than I."_

_Harriet cleared her throat. "Uh, sure. It's just that… I mean, what happened earlier tonight… It's been a year for me, so I might not remember some things clearly. But I know it all started when Umbridge called me to her office, I had a vision right there. I thought Voldemort was torturing Sirius in the Ministry."_

_"You insufferable girl, what did I tell you about clearing your mind?!" Snape interrupted, and Harriet looked at him blankly for a moment, then grinned sheepishly, "yeah, sorry about that. I should've listened."_

_Snape looked like he'd been prepared for an emotional outburst, and was now biting back the words he'd prepared for an answer. Harriet thought that she might've been more irascible had she not spent a year thinking about what had happened that night. She knew that her carelessness had put her friends in danger, which is why she'd tried to be more prudent in her dealings with Tom and his Slytherins. _

_"I know how stupid my actions were that night, uh… this night. I know that if I'd paid some attention to what you said to me, I wouldn't have gone into the Ministry," Harriet noticed Dumbledore smiling brightly at this, and she wondered if the man was hoping they could settle their differences. She was to disappoint him, as she continued in a sharper tone, "I also know that if you'd been more patient, or even understanding with me, instead of adding yet another torture to everything I had to endure this year, I would have been more open to your advice."_

_At this, Snape remained silent, but something in his gaze softened. He nodded, almost imperceptibly. Harriet took it as a sign to continue. _

_"I ended up getting the thestrals to fly to the Ministry. My friends followed me. We arrived at the Hall of Prophecies, and I found one that mentioned Voldemort and I. The Death Eaters appeared; they wanted the prophecy. I knew then that the vision had been a fake. We managed to get out of there, but we landed in a strange room. There were time turners in it… other stuff. I can't remember what happened at all… the next thing I know, I'm in a broom closet in Hogwarts, in 1948."_

_"About that," Dumbledore softly interrupted, "your friends provided us the details of what happened. Apparently, the Death Eaters burst into the room and carelessly began attacking all of you. A stray spell hit one of the time turners, which created a chain of reaction in which you disappeared. Your friends thought you dead."_

_Harriet's gaze widened. "What happened to them after that?"_

_"The explosion confounded everyone in the room, which gave them time to escape. They went into an adjacent room, where they found the Order members I sent after Severus warned me of your vision."_

_Harriet breathed a sigh of relief. At least they hadn't directly faced the Death Eaters. She'd worried that in her absence they'd been captured, or worse, killed by Voldemort's blood-thirsty followers. _

_She snuck a look at the potions master next to her, and found him looking quite bewildered. "Fifty years is a lot of time, I guess?" she said to him._

_"It's thought impossible," he simply answered. "No magic manages to be stable enough to interrupt the flow of time in that way."_

_"Well we all thought no one could survive the Killing Curse, and yet here I am," Harriet said. _

_"Touché, Harriet, touché…" said Dumbledore with an amused smile. "So you arrived in 1948, and you found the late headmaster Dippet and I discussing the arithmantical implications behind the colors associated with Christmas, if I recall correctly," Harriet nodded at that. "Which is quite an interesting topic, should any of you ever feel like discussing it." Snape snorted. _

_"After I realized I was in the past, you gave me permission to stay in Hogwarts as a student while I figured out a way to go back."_

_"Yes, and we agreed that should anyone ask, you'd claim to be home-schooled."_

_"Nobody asked, you know," Harriet said with a half-smile. "Except for Riddle."_

_At that, Snape's eyes widened comically, and he turned to look at Dumbledore. "Riddle? _Tom_ Riddle? That's the Tom you were talking about?"_

_"Yes," the old wizard answered. "Harriet attended her sixth year with Tom Riddle."_

_From the man's expression, Harriet could almost see the wheels turning in his head. What Dumbledore had said earlier, her own words… She figured that Dumbledore had brought Snape there to hear the complete truth. And that's what she would give the two of them, even if the last thing she wanted was to discuss her personal life with her potions professor. "Tom wasn't fooled and soon guessed that I was a time traveler. He also learned I could speak parseltongue. It wasn't long until he began trying to maneuver me into his merry band of followers."_

_"Long story short, he sent some of his friends to seduce me. When it didn't work, he tried that himself," at that, she looked at Dumbledore. "His little plan backfired. We both fell in love. Or as close to love as he can feel."_

_Harriet heard a sharp intake of breath beside her, and turned to look at Snape. He was sneering at her, in a way she'd never seen someone do before. It was sheer spite, complete rejection. It was the expression of someone who thought you were less than dirt._

A small hissed voice brought her out of her reverie. _Less than dirt_, she thought to herself, and looked at the small snake making his way to her. The little thing was barely noticeable among the overgrown grass leaves. She stood up from her place in the only swing that had yet to be broken by Dudley's gang, and knelt in front of the reptile.

"_Greetings, speaker,_" said the snake. Harriet couldn't say she was an expert at pointing out the differences in each reptilian voice, but she thought that he sounded much older than his size suggested he was.

"_Hello,_" she answered. "_How did you know I was a speaker?_"

"_I was sent here by someone who knows you can speak._"

Her heart fluttered in her chest.

"_Ah, so it is as my kin suggested. You are his nestmate,_" the snake said as he tasted the air with his little forked tongue.

"_Huh? Nestmate?_"

"_Yes. Your chosen partner for reproduction._"

Harriet felt her face grow hot in record time, as her mind conjured images of green-eyed, curly-haired babies. Then she thought about what a lousy father Tom would be, trying to teach his children useless things like how to conquer the world and how to extract information from spies, and couldn't help the laugh that burst from her mouth.

"_Yes. Nestmate, all right,_" she said, ignoring the confused hisses of the snake. "_Why were you sent here?_"

"_I was told to rely you a message. It says, 'I have a birthday surprise for you. Are you still waiting for me?'_"

Harriet smiled softly. "_Were you told to expect an answer?_"

The snake hissed an affirmative.

"_Tell him, 'Always'._"

* * *

Harriet didn't know when he would come, or how he would get past the wards in the Dursley home, but she was absolutely certain that she'd see him on her birthday. As the days passed, each more slowly than the previous, she began to grow increasingly more restless. It was a testament to her state of mind that she was taken by surprise by an owl tapping on her window on the night of the 30th. Like an automata she let the exhausted animal in. A brief glance at the clock told her it was already midnight… with a startled gasp she realized she'd completely forgotten of the nightly ritual her friends indulged in during the eve of her birthday. She smiled brightly, and after giving some water to the poor Errol, she took the package the Weasleys (and probably Hermione) had sent her.

_"Happy birthday Harriet! I wish we could've given you this in person, but you know how it is. Dumbledore's orders and all that. He's been really weird lately; mum says he's lost his favorite pair of socks. I don't know. Either way, I hope those muggles aren't giving you much trouble! Fred and George told me that one word from you, and they'll use them to try on the stuff they've been experimenting with for their prank shop. I hope we can see you soon. Cheers! Your friend, Ron."_

Harriet smiled at the messy handwriting of her friend, warmed by his words. Still, something he'd written had gotten her attention. _He's been really weird lately._ Harriet didn't understand why Dumbledore hadn't sent for her yet. She'd thought that after what happened the previous summer they'd be eager to let her stay at Grimmauld Place. But then again, she wasn't complaining. She wanted to see Voldemort, and she was very much aware that she couldn't just sneak out her godfather's house in the middle of the night.

She opened the second letter, and immediately recognized Hermione's neat handwriting.

_"Dear Harriet, I hope you're doing well. As you might've already guessed, I'm staying with the Weasleys right now. I arrived last week. Everything's much quieter than I expected, considering the circumstances. Still, it makes me nervous. I hope you can come here soon; I can't wait to see you. Happy birthday, girlfriend. With love, Hermione."_

_Trust Hermione to know what I'm wondering at the moment_, Harriet thought with a grin. Her friend had been cryptic, but she knew what she'd meant. The Order was laying low, and apparently nothing of importance had happened. She'd been following the news, searching for clues as to what was in Voldemort's mind, but there hadn't been any suspicious activities since the school year had ended. Snape's words came back to mind; _the key to success_. She wondered not for the first time what it meant... for the wizarding world, for her, for Voldemort himself.

As she sat in her bed with Hermione's letter in her hands, she felt another tapping against her window. This time it was Hedwig, her snowy white companion. Harriet let her in, taking some more of the food she'd stolen from the Dursleys to feed them both.

"You went yourself to get this, didn't you, girl?" she asked the owl as she petted her. The smart animal hooted quietly, and Harriet took that as a 'yes'. "Thank you Hedwig. You're the best."

She took the package from her owl, and examined her. The messy wrapping revealed who was the sender; Hagrid. Harriet opened the package, and found a letter attached to a sculptured figurine. From the texture and the rough modeling, she would guess it was something Hagrid had sculpted out of the bone of some animal.

_"Harriet, happy birthday!" _the letter read, "_I made this from the bone of a poor thestral who got sick with the blue pox. Poor thing, we had to put him out before he started chewing his own flesh off. To be honest I didn't know what to get you, but I was talking with the centaurs one day and I let slip that your birthday was coming, and they gave me the idea. Thestral bone is said to protect those who have seen death, and since you can see them I thought… well, you get it. The girl I sculpted is you! It looks a bit rough, but I think it captures who you are. Hope you're doing well! Hagrid._"

Harriet looked back at the figurine, marveling at the texture. It felt a lot like a chicken bone, flexible and smooth; yet it had a certain resiliency that would've made her think she was holding stone, not bone. _It only looks like me because of the hair_, she thought with amusement as she examined the small thing. She put it in one of the huge pockets of the old jean she was wearing. As it was originally fitted for Dudley, there was enough space to store the curious sculpture.

As she went to open Hermione's and Ron's gifts, a brown own entered her room. _That must be Sirius'_ she thought, and took the package off the owl's feet. The unnamed creature didn't stay around, unlike Enrol, who seemed to have dozen off in Hedwig's cage, much to the snowy owl's annoyance. Harriet opened Sirius' letter, and read the last missive she'd received.

_"Happy birthday little prongslet! Although you're not so little anymore. I wish I could be spending your birthday there with you, taking you out to the funny muggle bars your father and I used to go to for his birthday. They had a small stage and a funny little thing that you were supposed to put in front of your mouth, and that amplified your voice like a sonorus. I would embarrass your dad by singing the most corny love songs I could find on the catalogue. Dumbledore says that you can come here in a few weeks, so even though I'm not yet supposed to go out we can sneak out at night and go there. It'll be fun. Until then, I hope you enjoy my present. Let me know if that muggle aunt of yours gives you any trouble, ok? Love, Padfoot."_

Although yes, Harriet wanted to see Voldemort, and yes, she was very much aware that any prolonged stay in Grimmauld Place meant not being able to see him, she felt like hopping on the next Night Bus to see her godfather. She barely saw him in the year, and she missed him terribly. She sighed, and resigned herself to open the gift he'd sent and wait until she could see him again.

Sirius had sent her a couple of Nimbus gloves that she'd seen professional Seekers use – they had modified sticking charms that'd prevent her from accidentally falling off her broom, but wouldn't provide an unfair advantage when catching the snitch. She also opened her friends' gifts as well; a book on advanced defensive magic from Hermione, and an enchanted jewelry set from Ron ("_they have concealment charms in them. I thought it might help you hide your scar when you don't want to be recognized_"). She put them in her nightstand; although in the past her relatives had taken to confiscating anything that had to do with magic, after having learned that her godfather was the dangerous mass murderer Sirius Black they'd mostly left her things alone.

* * *

Harriet was fidgeting with her hair, resting against the kitchen counter as she munched on a snack she'd stolen from the pantry when her aunt came in. She looked confused and slightly flustered two expressions that did not become her horse-like features. "Girl, there's a gentleman in the door asking for you," she said. Harriet's eyes widened and she hurriedly left the snack on the counter, butterflies raging inside of her stomach.

Her aunt completely forgotten, she closed the space between the kitchen and the front door so quickly that she could almost swear she'd apparated. After taking a moment to calm herself, she opened the door.

"I…" she said, losing her breath at the sight of a fully human Tom Riddle, smiling at her. She didn't know what she'd expected when Voldemort had announced he'd show up at her house in her birthday – she'd entertained the idea of her relatives' horrified stares as they gazed upon his snake-like visage and demonic red eyes. She'd also thought he might use the polyjuice potion to go undetected, in case any Order members were watching.

But there he was, looking like a slightly older version of the Tom she'd left behind fifty years before. The same cold onyx eyes, the wicked curve to his thin-lipped smile, the dark curls that looked so inviting to the touch… She felt the strange longing to leap into his arms and to take his mouth in hers until the night fell. It was with a great deal of restraint that she managed to stay where she was.

"_What the hell happened to you?_" she said when she realized she'd (very visibly) been staring, unconsciously slipping into parseltongue.

"_Ah, that's an interesting story, one that I'd like to talk about somewhere…more dignified than the porch of a muggle._"

Harriet blushed, suddenly aware that this was the Dark Lord she was speaking to, and he was standing in the porch of one very muggle Petunia Dursley in the very muggle suburb of Little Whinging. The security implications of that sentence alone could've made her head spin, but she figured that his amicable disposition was guaranty enough of his goodwill. She figured that he wouldn't include torture and murder as part of any birthday present he might've thought to give her. _Or would he?_

She shook her head, and stood to one side of the door. "One month with the Dursleys made me forget my manners. Sorry for that. Uh, come in please?"

"Don't worry about that," Voldemort said with amusement, as he entered the small hall. Harriet closed the door after him. "You already had dreadful manners."

"I'll have you know tha-" Harriet began saying, but she was cut off by a hand on her waist and the feeling of a warm body against hers. She relaxed into the embrace, letting out a small sigh of contentment. As her body leaned against his, he lowered his head to her shoulder and buried his nose on her neck.

"You smell like cheap cuisine," he said. Harriet giggled.

"Don't tell the Dursleys. They want everyone to think they use imported spice."

They stood for a moment in silence. Harriet had never felt so at peace, so comfortable in her own skin. _The thought –_ the one thought that'd given her hope after years of hostility in the very same house they were now standing in. It'd come to her only once, as she gazed upon the magnificence of the lights of the Hogwarts castle at night, shimmering on the surface of the Black Lake. _I'm home_.

And now she'd found another home, in Tom Riddle's, Voldemort's arms. As the world seemed to fade away into the background with its politics, its history and tragedies and all the things that'd make her heart ache when she went back, she felt like she was flying. She turned around, breaking the embrace, and that action alone made her very soul cry in despair because _where are you going, this is where you belong-_

And the cry was lost again in the air as she crashed her lips on Voldemort's, each grabbing at the other… thirsty man and woman in the desert, reaching out because to each other they were made of water. He'd waited for her and she'd come; she'd reached out for him and he'd come. A breathless gasp came from Harriet's mouth as they parted; although she wanted to drown herself in him the look in his eyes –the unguarded look in his eyes- seemed to fill her with a certainty she didn't have before.

"_Happy birthday, Harriet_" he murmured, forehead resting against forehead as he kept a tight hold on her. _He could kill me now_, Harriet thought, _he could kill me now and I wouldn't mind. Because he just…_ He'd just made her Queen. And just like that, she could kill him now; they could both die but it wouldn't matter to either of them because they'd found something that went beyond life and death, time or fate and it made them…

_The key to success. _

Snape's words brought her out of her contented reverie… and she fixed her green-eyed stare on his. "Let's talk about politics."

His mouth quirked upwards; a small gesture, but a gesture nonetheless. "I was hoping to take you out to a fancy restaurant first then seduce you with my monologues on the current state of wizarding politics. But I'd forgotten how impatient you are."

Harriet smiled sheepishly at that. "Oh – I didn't know…" she blushed, suddenly conscious of his fanciful attire against her shabby hand-me downs. He noticed her train of thoughts and looked her up and down, a small sneer gracing his features. "Those are your cousin clothes – his _old_ clothes," he said, stating the facts like he did every time he was deducing something. "Your aunt has never bought you any clothes, nor has she given you her own."

Harriet shrugged. "To be fair, after being told I had a small fortune of my own I never got any clothes for myself either… I just," she looked to the side. "It's just easier this way."

She felt Voldemort's hand under her chin, and her face was moved violently upwards until her eyes were focused on the older man's. She weakly protested against the manhandling, but the look in his eyes frightened her. As she wondered if he was using Legilimancy he broke off the eye contact, and regarded her with an angered expression.

"You're a witch of great skill, yet you've let these muggles get away with everything they've done to you over the years," he said, looking at the cupboard next to them. _He read my mind_, Harriet thought, as she became aware that the man's anger was directed towards her family. He was looking at the cupboard that'd been her bedroom for ten years.

"A cupboard, Harriet? The whole Wizarding World was ready to give you a nursery made of pure gold and these _muggles_" he spit the world like it was poison, "gave you a cupboard under the stairs."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I don't understand that was a shitty thing to do but… they're still family."

"You don't understand the full implications of this," his voice came out as a whisper. His tone was cold and dark, full of menacing promises. He was advancing on her, and she felt like bolting out and hiding inside the same cupboard they were now discussing.

"You've known for years that it was Dumbledore who placed you here. Surely you're not naïve enough to think that he wouldn't check on the Savior of the Wizarding World from time to time."

"What do you mean?" asked Harriet, confusion beginning to replace fear. Voldemort laid a hand on her cheek, conscious that his outburst had scared her.

"Surviving the Killing Curse gave you a great deal of political power. Great wizards would bow at your feet for being the solution to a problem they couldn't solve. But instead of finding the right family for you, they chose to send you to live with magic-hating muggles. They knew what they were capable of… and now you're choosing to wear rags because you think it'll help you fade into the background instead of confronting your abuse. They wanted to raise you with fear so your power wouldn't be a problem for them."

Harriet's eyes were wide as saucers – did he really imply that Dumbledore had sent her to live with the Dursleys because he felt she was a threat to his power? Did she dare to entertain the notion? _It makes sense, _she thought, _but Dumbledore has always been nice to me… Wouldn't he go out of his way to make my life difficult like Snape does, if he was afraid of any political power I might have?_

"Dumbledore's a great actor, Harriet," Voldemort sighed. "So great in fact, that he's managed to fool even himself."

_Don't make the same mistake I made._

"While I was in the past, he…" Harriet murmured, resting her head on the man's chest. "He told me that you reminded him of a boy he once knew," she felt him stiffen. "He said he didn't want to see me make the same mistakes he made."

Voldemort hummed, pensively. "Do you have any dresses, at least?"

Harriet looked at the man in confusion, resting her hands on his chest to put some distance between them. "What?"

"We're going to a fancy restaurant," Voldemort said with a small smirk. "I will not take you looking like this."

"We were speaking about Dumbledore, you topic-changing sneaky old man."

"And before that we were talking about your horrendous wardrobe," Harriet felt like smacking him. "Do you have any dresses, or shall I conjure one for you?"

"I have the one I bought for the Yule ball in my fourth year," she replied with a glare. "Give me half an hour to make myself presentable, and please, _please_ don't injure my relatives."

"Deal," she didn't think his smile was at all reassuring, but she figured that the Dursleys could do with some humbling, courtesy of Tom Riddle's wit.

* * *

"I have to admit that even without your magic you're still a very scary man," Harriet said as they dusted their robes. Voldemort had apparated her to what seemed to be a very exclusive part of Diagon Alley. There weren't many people around, and those who walked past them had an air of aloofness that Harriet had come to associate to people like the Malfoys. Lavish dresses and gold-trimmed robes sparkled in the night, and although she'd never understood nor cared about showing off she felt like a pauper. Her self-consciousness made her blush in spite of herself; she hoped that the dark would hide her expression.

"I've learnt very dark magic under very dark tutors, Harriet," Voldemort said after a while. "The only thing that I had at the time to keep them from harming me was my wit. Scaring some muggles is nothing compared to scaring necromancers."

Harriet remembered hearing about necromancers from her History of Magic class… more specifically, from Hermione babbling about Binn's lesson of the day during lunch. She'd be damned the day she could stay awake for more than fifteen minutes in that classroom.

"Necromancers are the ones who work with dead bodies and all that, right?" she asked, remembering the drawings Hermione had shown Ron and her of the work of a necromancer. "Inferis… they make inferis, right?"

"Yes, among other things," Voldemort replied.

"That's… disgusting," Harriet said pensively. "And you learnt how to do all that?" The man beside her nodded, and realization dawned on her that _they'd been enemies_. Had it not been for her little time travelling trip, he'd have kept on trying to murder her. A man who could make an army out of the bodies of his enemies, who could wield magic the name of which most wizards couldn't hope to even _pronounce_. And the prophecy had said she'd been born with a power he did not know… what could he have yet to learn, when he seems to know it all?

"You know so much… why did you come after me, then? I was just a baby."

"I…" the Dark Lord stopped for a minute to look at her. Harriet turned back, her hand still in his, to return the gaze. "I made the mistake of trusting too much in magic that I didn't entirely understand. I didn't realize it then, but I was left in a very delicate mental state."

"You were going crazy."

"You could say that. I realized the full extent of its consequences a few months after I regained my body. I began to look for a cure I never found," at this Harriet squeezed his hand softly, looking at him worriedly. "Then you came back, and something… changed. I was able to restore my mind to its previous state. I owe you my sanity."

Harried gasped, her green eyes wide and full of something she still wouldn't care to call hope. "And you… you tried to kill me because…?" Her mind raced. _If that dark magic he used screwed with his mind enough to make him think that coming after a baby was a good idea… then that wasn't really _Tom_. It was a distorted, insane Tom, but not the one she'd often caught laughing with real mirth, the one that made her wonder what had happened that he'd turned so evil…_

"No, Harriet, don't go there. I'm still very much the same man who killed your family and tried to kill you," his voice was sharp and cold. Harriet stiffened. "I recognize the stupidity of some of my past actions, but that's that. The only difference between then and now is that I now know not to act on my anger and greed. Over confidence in my abilities almost caused my downfall. Don't mistake that for remorse. I feel none."

Harriet felt heart clenching. Of course she couldn't disassociate him from her would-be murderer. _That's naïve_, she thought to herself. It couldn't be that simple. _It shouldn't be_. Walking beside her was a man, not a cardboard figure she could paint the color she wanted the moment she felt like it. It was all his complexity that made her feel like there could be no other man in the world for her; the rare genuine smile and the devious machinations, all packaged into one single miracle. If she was going to kiss him, if she was going to take his hand in hers and hope that one day she could give the world to him, she had to accept that this wasn't Tom and the _other man_ was Voldemort. This was Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, aka the man who destroyed her family and her life and then gave her a whole new world.

"I think… I think I understand," Harriet said, biting her lip. "I forget that you're not the same Tom I left back then… I mean, you're him in all the ways that matter, but life has changed you. It's taken away your… innocence I guess," she smiled sheepishly at his raised eyebrow. "Yeah, you were innocent! It's not a bad thing. I feel a bit bad, you know… even though you look like you're thirty or something you're so much older than me. I feel stupid and annoying, compared to you."

"Well compared to me, everyone is stupid and annoying," he said with a chuckle. "But I tolerate you."

"Is that like, your idea of romanticism?"

"I was hoping that you'd think it was this," Voldemort said as they came to a stop in front of the most elegant restaurant that Harriet had ever seen. It walls stood impressively against the small boutiques in both sides; coal black shimmering purple against the aged wood and marble of the expensive clothing stores. On the wall, what looked to be at first like fireflies dancing near the intertwining leaves of an exotic climber, in close inspection revealed itself to be nothing more than an elaborate cage of finely spun gold threads. Harriet was delighted at the small balls of lights that danced inside the cage, changing color and shape as people walked by.

From the windows, she could see the busy waiters hurriedly carrying trays between the tables. The place seemed to be bursting with people. Harriet didn't want to linger on their appearance, as she felt she was not clothed for the occasion.

"It is a bit cliché for you," she said. "But since you didn't bring me flowers I will have to forgive you."

"I will consider myself a lucky man, then" the Dark Lord said as they entered the restaurant. Harriet noticed that, as was the fashion for most of the wizarding buildings she'd been in, the room was much bigger than it looked from the outside. She thought she heard a muffled gasp somewhere near her, but she didn't catch anyone staring. _Not that I'm complaining but nobody's recognized me_, she thought, as a waiter led them to a table.

"Trust Tom Riddle to reserve the table placed exactly in the middle of the room," she whispered to the Dark Lord, who didn't suppress the small smirk that came to his face.

"Of course. To Caesar what belongs to Caesar."

They both sat facing each other. "Should we talk about Dumbledore before or after eating?"

"After ordering, if you will," came the reply.

"Grindelwald," said Voldemort as he cut into the steak he'd ordered. "The name you're looking for is Grindelwald. That's the boy that I reminded him of."

"That explains a lot of things."

"More than you'd think," a small smirk and Harriet felt like maybe they'd talked about too many things in one night. "Dumbledore fell in love with him."

_Definitely too many revelations for one night. _"D-did he?" she spluttered, thankful that she'd managed to swallow before opening her mouth to speak.

"Yes. But the feeling wasn't mutual. I do not know the details, but Grindelwald eventually betrayed him, and Dumbledore lost contact with him. Then, after he became a menace, he defeated him in the duel that made him famous."

"Oh," Harriet said. "That's sad… how was he able to do it?"

"How was he able to raise his wand against his former boyfriend?" The Girl-Who-Lived nodded. "Self deception, maybe. Dumbledore claims that love is the greatest magic, but he didn't defeat a Dark Lord with love."

_Don't make the same mistakes I made._

Harriet smiled. She wondered if Dumbledore thought about his words as often as she did, if he knew their real meaning. "I told him part of what happened in the past. He didn't want to believe it."

"In fact," Harriet thought out loud, "Back in 1948, sometimes we'd talk, and he would never fail to warn me against you. I think that in some way, he never was against you. He was against the ghost of his old love."

Voldemort snorted. "In spite of the Gryffindor sentiment, or maybe because of it, I think there's some truth in that. Even then, I wouldn't put it past him to use said sentiment to manipulate you. He's an obstinate man, if I ever saw one. He believes there's only one Greater Good and he's convinced that anything is worth sacrificing if it'll make the world closer to its achievement."

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions, isn't it?" said Harriet as she took a sip from her cup. "Speaking of which, your idea of a greater good isn't that much better. Killing off all muggleborns and muggles? Seriously?"

Voldemort looked pensive at that. "Yes, an oversight on my part. In reality, I never did quite promise that. I simply used my secessionist ideas to recruit pureblood support, and they simply assumed that I was fully backing their agenda. I admit that in the years before my downfall, and thanks to my degrading state of mind, I actually began to believe in it."

"Then what was your intention when you tried taking over the wizarding world?"

"Mostly to isolate ourselves from the muggles and to preserve the wizarding traditions," Voldemort smirked. "Of course that I also wanted the power that came with being in charge of the nation."

The younger girl giggled. "Of course you did," she said, as she fiddled with her napkin. "But why an armed revolution? You could've become Minister."

That earned one of the most patronizing stares Harriet had ever received in her life. She huffed. "Politics are never that simple. The minister is just a puppet. A figure head. A coup d'etat is a far more effective way to seize power than lobbying for the rich. Especially for the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries."

It was Harriet's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Say it once more, I don't think your ego has had enough stroking." At that, Voldemort's eyes flashed and a small smirk blossomed on his lips. "I can think of other things that require stroking."

Harriet turned red, and evaluated the possibility of hiding under the table… until her traitorous teenage mind provided her with far more creative alternatives than just _hiding_ under it. "No! No dirty talking while in public," she managed to say.

"I am a legilimens, _dear_, I can do far worse than simply _talk_."

* * *

Skin met skin and Harriet thought she would never tire of the constant cat-and-mouse game they played. They'd somehow managed to look presentable enough when they left the restaurant – but then it was the asphyxiating sensation of side-along Apparition and it was his mouth on hers, breath still smelling of expensive wine and meat and spices. He could fool them all with his cold demeanor and his elegant gestures but with her he undressed and he was _raw_, pure beast _and she wanted to tame him for herself_ – here, there, mark him everywhere… _they'd know he was hers._

And Tom, Tom-Voldemort loved the small body of the hungry sixteen-year-old who actually turned seventeen, because it was power, vitality, _emotion_ – all that was beyond his greed and madness. She took what he gave and even dared to take what he didn't, and he loved every single part of it. She could fool them all with her innocence and her warmth, but with him she undressed and she was _raw_, the lust for life incarnated and _he wanted to tame her for himself_ – here, there, mark her everywhere… _they'd know she was his._

"Ah…" she gasped, a small sound the broke the monotony of the hungry growls and the rustling clothes. He took the moan for himself and entered her brutally, knowing she was ready because she'd always be ready for him. She didn't make a sound, but she opened her eyes and he knew what he was seeing – _more, harder, faster, do it please, please, please…_

And with dark satisfaction he complied, because when her mother had begged him to spare her little baby he'd ignored her but now that the very same green eyes were asking for salvation again he felt it was time to fulfill his duty. "Ah…" she heard him sigh as he reached completion; with one last angry bite she followed him to the abyss, and they both fell…

Harriet nursed the cup filled with hot chocolate in her hands as she stared outside the large window in Tom's bedroom. He was lying on his back beside her; he had lazily arranged the covers to protect his modesty after she'd informed him she'd not call the house elf for refreshments until he was presentable. He'd done as she'd asked, and once they found themselves alone again he banished the shirt she was wearing, leaving her completely exposed. She'd decided not to give him the satisfaction of blushing, and sat on the covers sipping the chocolate. Completely naked.

"You never told me how you managed to get your old looks back," Harriet said, pensively. "Or why you did it. You know, the flat nose look was kind of sexy."

Voldemort chuckled. "A change of tactic. To rule by means of fear meant embodying fear itself, so I took full advantage of the humanoid form the resurrection ritual gave me. But like I said before, that was a very moronic idea. When it comes to de-facto governments, subtlety is the best ally. So I can inspire fear with my powers, but I can also command respect and admiration by presenting myself with a more… humane façade. "

"Merlin's balls, your deviousness seriously creeps me out," Harriet smiled cheekily at her partner's scowl. He hated it when she'd be _crass_, as he called it. "You know, this was the best birthday gift I've ever had. Even though we ended up in Malfoy's house. Or manor."

"Oh, so you figured it out."

"Kind of hard not to when you see peacocks in the garden. Only Malfoy is pompous enough to do that."

* * *

Although the Girl-Who-Lived and her nemesis Lord Voldemort had eloped on the eve of the first of August, and many years before that as well, the end of the world didn't really come until a week after. No cursed horsemen nor any angels or demons in sight; just Harriet Potter, her two best friends, her godfather and a very amused Remus Lupin standing in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place after the girl had greeted everyone in the house.

"Harriet," the voice came as a horrified whisper, and the girl in question turned back to stare at his godfather in alarm. "Harriet… is, is that a _hickey?_"

Harriet blinked once, twice and then answered, "yeah."

"B-but… h-how is t-that…? You're _sixteen!_" came the horrified cry as her godfather hugged her.

"Sirius, you did much worse things at _fourteen_," the voice of reason in the room, also known as Remus Lupin, did nothing to pacify the distraught godfather.

"Woah, mate, you never told us!" said Ron. "Is it someone we know?"

"Doubtful," reasoned Hermione. "She's been with her muggle relatives these weeks. He's probably a muggle boy."

Harriet smiled sheepishly. "Uhm, could we go somewhere private…? It's a bit more serious than what you think…"

* * *

"Could I have a moment of your time, Harriet?"

She'd been waiting for him, and they both knew it. "Sure, professor. Do you want anything to drink or eat?"

"No, I've just had some pastries on my way here. Thank you."

She'd expected the false formality. Even if it wasn't really her style, she'd cultured a certain appreciation for it because of Tom. He also loved the same theatrics. She sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, once again to reveal what nobody could have ever expected. A moment of silence fell upon them, and she knew it'd make him all the more conscious of the ground he'd lost.

"I hadn't foreseen this," he said in a serious tone she'd never heard him use before. She felt like, in a way, he was finally speaking to her like an adult and not like a parent might speak with an unruly child. "I'd thought you might go with him. I was hoping you'd remember what he did, to you and to the wizarding world, and that you'd come back. And you did, but for entirely different reasons."

"We need you, Harriet. The prophecy might be void but there's much more to this war than fate and magic words. We need you to do the right thing."

"You once told me not to make the same mistakes you made," Harriet said, looking down at her hands. "You say love is everything but so far you've fought with your mind, not with your heart. I chose to go on a different path."

"Harriet, I understand that you might think that you love him," Dumbledore said in a grave voice. "But the greatest men have fallen for the same weakness; we all see what we want to see."

Harriet stood, incensed at the man's words. "Exactly! And you don't want to see it for what it is! That I am not you and Tom is not Grindelwald!"

She saw a brief flash of pain in the aged blue eyes and immediately regretted her outburst. "I'm… I'm sorry. But this is the way it's going to be for me," she raised her green eyes and surveyed the stony face of her headmaster. "As you know, Sirius, Remus, Hermione and Ron have chosen to follow me. I hope you realize that while it's entirely possible that one witch can be fooled, it's more difficult to also fool her entire family."

Dumbledore pursued his lips. "I understand. I may not agree with your decision, but I will not contest it. Should you ever find yourself questioning your loyalties, you'll know where to find me."

Harriet smiled. "Thank you, professor."

* * *

In the heat of the battle many had found themselves too busy to look to the sky. The starry night exploded above them in furious red swirls; galaxies and constellations twisting and turning around each other. The lights from above seemed to call the lights from below, as the flashes of the spells ignited and died near the ground. Like a crude black smudge above the heavenly background stood the astronomy tower.

Inside could be heard the final staccato of a 50-year-long symphony, arranged so only those who'd started it could appreciate its final cries. Dumbledore nursed his blackened right hand, and looked up to his murderer. He was surprised to find that in his moment of victory, he wasn't fixated on his triumph, on Dumbledore's final submission. Instead, his gaze was on Harriet Potter, who was holding off the aurors who were trying to rescue him.

In that moment, Dumbledore knew that he'd truly lost. As Voldemort fixed his gaze back on him, he asked "after all this time?"

"Always."


	3. Chapter 3

Harriet smiled as she turned around; her little Sal's giggling fading in the background as he ran off to another one of his adventures. She took off the scarf around her neck as she went inside the manor, feeling the warming spells washing over her.

Two aurors were guarding the entrance, fresh young recruits she'd personally selected to watch over her son. She'd tutored them during their training, and knew them to be trust-worthy. _A rare thing to be these days_, she thought.

"Felix, I'll need you to watch over Sal," she said, speaking to the dark-haired man on her right. The fresh-faced auror nodded with a small smirk. "Try not to be caught this time. I know how maddening it is for him to feel like we're not giving him his space."

Felix gave her a sheepish smile. "Yes, General," he said with a nod. "Although in my defense I'll say I was hung over that time."

Harriet raised an eyebrow at that. "People prefer incompetency over irresponsibility, Felix. Now go. Nagini is around the border, she'll appear if she sees anything suspicious."

The auror nodded and Apparated. Harriet sighed. "I should not watch over my home like it was an outpost."

The remaining auror gave her an understanding look. "Better to be safe than sorry, General," she said in a small, timid voice. Harriet nodded, her hands coming to rest to her exposed neck. A thin red scar ran from her collarbone to the side of her jaw, reminding her of how close she'd come to lose everything. "Indeed, Sonya."

* * *

Fifteen years had changed Harriet in the most unexpected of ways. She'd been seventeen when her husband and she had decided to reach a compromise, forming an alliance that had completely restructured the Wizarding World. She'd naïvely thought that the war would end as soon as they erased Dumbledore from the picture, but while that had gained them power over the Ministry, the battle had been far from over. Old allies and enemies had come together, some disillusioned with his change of heart, others disillusioned with hers. She'd never expected to see the day a Weasley fought alongside a Parkinson, but it'd seemed that their lust for the old structure was stronger than family feuds. In order to keep up with the emerging threat, she'd taken control of the Ministry's armed forces, endorsed by her husband and his closest allies. Her main motivation was to fight the People's Restoration Forces, one of the many rebel alliances that had been formed after the takeover.

_Five years_, Luna Lovegood's voice would say in a sing-song voice when asked about the downfall of the biggest resistance move. It took an entire rethinking of the way they conceived war and five years to win. Many losses, many heart-aches; far too many for her liking. Harriet was there to see the gothic-styled PRF letters turn into ashes when they finally managed to find and obliterate the last rebel camp in the country.

_"Ashes to ashes…" said her right-hand woman in a sing-song voice. Harriet turned to look at Luna Lovegood, who in spite of all the bloodshed and filth they'd seen over the years had never lost her dreamy-eyed look._

_"You think there are many more out there?" the young General asked, tucking an errant black lock behind her ear. "Dissidents, I mean. Militants, those I can account for."_

_"Most likely, but they'll always be there. And it's healthy, in a way. There's always a need for someone to say no."_

_Harriet smiled; she gazed at the smoking remains of what had once been a forest base. Leaves and vegetation had been once its cover and protection, but after she spread her Fiendyfire there was little that could be protected from the ever-searching fiery creatures. The hissing of the burning foundations, like the wail of an angry snake, still echoed in her ears. "This time our 'no' was louder, I guess. This is it for the PRR. "_

_"But not for the rebellion."_

Harriet had never underestimated Luna's ability to predict the unpredictable. And just like the woman had foreseen, the rebellion came back in the form of the Wardbreakers – the informal name for the BLF, Britain's Liberation Front. Harriet had to acknowledge that they'd taken them completely by surprise with their change of tactics – while the PRR relied mostly on guerrilla warfare and terrorist bombings, the BLF were sneakier and more selective in their targets.

From the intelligence they'd gathered, the group's main weapon was their advanced knowledge of ward breaking. Thus the tongue-in-cheek nickname, which had spread like wild fire after a particularly chatty secretary had talked too much about work at a bar. 

_Bill Weasley_. The name was hot on the tip of her tongue when the matter of BLF's authorities came to the table and everybody knew of her suspicions that one of the remaining Weasleys was behind its founding. _Strange how the tides have turned_, had said Hermione sadly when she'd walked into her office while she was studying Bill's file. Harriet purposely did not comment on that.

But what she did comment on was on the attack on her life, the one that had left her with yet another cursed scar. It'd been one thing that they'd tried to kill the commander of the armed forces, which was entirely understandable under the circumstances. But they'd done it so while she was pregnant with her son, and _that_ was something that she'd never forgive. The attack did not only send her husband into a rage the likes of which she'd never seen before, but it also sparked a great public outcry. And she'd responded to it – with the bloodiest raids Britain saw since the fall of the old Ministry. Still, she was very much aware that the little cockroaches were lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike back, and that's why since Sal's birth she'd increased the security around her own home.

_I will give you the country you deserve, Sal_, she thought, still tracing the pattern of her scar with her fingers as she walked to her husband's private office.

Her _husband_. Such a familiar thought nowadays, yet the concept of marriage and stability would've seemed foreign to her seventeen years ago. _Strange how the tides have turned_, Hermione's voice said in her mind. What had once been family had turned into enemies and what had once been enemies turned into family – strange indeed. At fifteen she'd thought she'd die before her twenties, her life and her world consumed by the power lust of some scaly maniac bent on chaos and destruction. At sixteen she'd learnt to love and she'd taught to love as well; even then, surrounded by the unreality of time travel and second chances, she'd considered happiness and stability impossible. She felt so detached from that little girl, shaped by tragedies and bloodlust and her own broken innocence.

She would not mourn any of it – it was senseless to do so. Many had screamed at her "_what would your parents think?!_" the moment she'd chosen to stand beside her greatest enemy. She'd never felt a parent's love, but she guessed that a real loving parent would understand and forgive, and most of all, feel pride the moment their child took a stand for what they believed in. And so she'd never once looked back at her parents' ghosts, because she'd learnt in her journey to adulthood that her lips should utter her decisions, not theirs. With it came happiness and sadness, weakness and strength. But she firmly believed, every time she looked at her husband's warm stare and her child's happy face that she'd made all the right choices.

And with a bit of wicked amusement she thought that not even Dumbledore could've foreseen this.

* * *

"You're pensive these days," her husband laid a hand on her shoulder, and Harriet covered it with her own. She squeezed it lightly and rose to meet him.

"Intel has been giving me some very disquieting reports about the rebels. I think they're planning something big, but we don't know the date, the place, the size of it."

Lord Voldemort gave a slight nod as he pulled the sleeves of his dark grey shirt up. "I've heard some reports from my own informants regarding that. They're being very secretive about it."

"You seem awfully unconcerned about it, though."

He looked down, and when met her stare again he had a feral smile on his face. Harriet felt his magic hum, preparing itself for a fight. "I have my own designs on the matter," he said in a slow voice, and if she hadn't been his wife she might've felt fear at his expression. But she knew that his hatred and hers came from the same place – and so she shared his excitement at the idea of annihilating those who'd tried to harm their child.

"Which is why I wanted to speak to you," he continued. "You'll drop that mission. Get everyone involved reassigned," he fixed her a serious look. "Including yourself."

Harriet scowled. "What are you playing at, Voldemort? You know we've been preparing for months for this op, and now you want us to back off?"

"Yes and yes to the last two questions, although I would question the use of plural pronouns in that sentence."

"You're taking this as personally as I am. I see no difference."

Voldemort smirked. "And that is why I must take this from your hands. I am much better at leading ops when my emotions are involved than you are."

Harriet's emerald eyes were scorching in her displeasure. The Dark Lord gave a small node in her direction, aware of her upcoming retort. "Surrey. Godric's Hollow. Lancaster. King's Crossing. Lake Ness. Small battles, I will grant you that, but they were lost because of your clouded judgment."

He approached her, taking her smaller hands in his. "You promised me that you would show me my lapses in judgment before I made mistakes, and I am obliged to do the same. I am not seeking to disrespect you – merely I'm doing what I consider is best."

Harriet kissed his hands, and stood on her toes to whisper in his ear, "we will talk about this later."

* * *

"You think this is a political move?" asked Hermione as she carried the tray with tea and biscuits into the homey living room. Harriet absent-mindedly stroked Sal's curly dark hair as he slept, curled in the couch with his head on her mother's lap.

"Partly. It's true that his agents have a… _wider_ range of operation," she said with distaste, "but their numbers are minimal against ours. We should be sharing information, not working with two different organizations that practically do the same thing."

"Not the same thing. You do it legally," Hermione pointed out with a raised eyebrow. It was no secret that the secret corps working for Voldemort indulged in more questionable practices than their auror counterparts.

The black-haired woman sighed. "Still, we can't afford this lack of cooperation. And he's aware of that."

Hermione stared into her teacup with a serious expression. "I have heard of certain rumors," she said, blowing softly on the steam rising from her cup. "Some think that you're looking to get a bigger say on his decisions."

"Like a coup?" Harriet said with a bewildered look. "Please! He's my husband! That's ridiculous."

"I know, Harry," her friend said with a soft smile. She knew that even if the war and her position had turned her into a colder woman, she was still the kindest and most loyal person Hermione knew. After all, that alone had been the reason she'd followed her so many years ago – because she believed that Harriet's heart would always choose the right path. And although it'd been a difficult one, she didn't feel any remorse at her choice. "I know that it's not in you to try and play the games that people like Malfoy play. But everyone's aware that part of our Lord's power comes from your military victories – he may be the most powerful wizard alive, but you have numbers, and you know how to handle them. You're Britain's strength."

Harriet looked at her son's sleeping face. "I'm aware of the standing that our army has in our society, and in the world. Which is why I hinted that this was also a political move – I didn't know of the rumors, but I guess it makes sense. He's doing this to show the public that he's still head honcho."

Hermione laughed at her expression. "Head honcho! I might start calling him that in my head. What are you planning to do?"

"I'll not interfere," Harriet answered, "I know how delicate these things are and although my darling husband might be more prone to showing off his status and power, I'll not play the same game. This isn't about my sensibilities. There're innocents involved and I won't have them harmed because of some petty power dispute. "

"But you'll keep an ear open."

"An ear, an eye, a nose, a hand… He'll know that if he fucks up we'll have a very serious talk."

* * *

_"So… who is it?" came Ron's curious voice. Harriet hadn't been looking forward to this – she didn't know what she would tell them. How she would tell them. In any case, it would be painful – for them, for her. She had to expect rejection. She had to expect scorn. But she reminded herself that it had been her own decision to do this, and as her friends they'd have to accept it. She simply hoped they could understand._

_"Before I tell you, I want you to know that I'm aware you'll not like this. I know you'll think I'm under some sort of spell or potion or whatever… but I'm not. Please, trust me on this. I've thought about it time and time again and I just can't see myself doing anything other than this."_

_"Blimey, mate," the red-head exclaimed. "Don't tell me you're dating Malfoy!"_

_A groan could be heard from Sirius. "Oh please not that pompous git!"_

_Harriet stared at them with a small smile, "no, although now that you mention it I went on a date with grandpa Malfoy while I was in the past and it was the most hilarious thing ever." _

_"Tell me please you didn't kiss him."_

_"He wouldn't have had children if I had," she sobered up suddenly. "And this is where I tell you the real story behind the trip."_

_"What do you mean, Harriet? What happened?" asked Hermione with concern. _

_"I didn't get back on my own, like I told you. At first I mostly kept to myself, at Hogwarts. People didn't really notice me, and I enjoyed that. But then I made the mistake of catching Tom Riddle's attention."_

_"Tom Riddle?" Remus interrupted her. "As in…?"_

_"Yes," said Harriet gravely. "He heard me speak to a snake. He thought at first I was part of his family, but then somehow he guessed I was from the future. And he became intent on making me spill what I knew about our time. He began sending some of his lackeys to date me, because he had this stupid idea that if I fell in love with one of them I'd end up confessing everything or something."_

_Hermione snorted. "What would that monster know about love?"_

_"Well to be fair it's no secret that ladies scream their secrets if you touch them in all the right ways," commented Sirius, which earned him a smack from his best friend. _

_"The same could be said about a man," Harriet said with a scowl. Sirius raised an eyebrow at that and she blushed, suddenly aware that she'd given away too much information. "We'll g-get to that," she stuttered. "O-kay. So, that didn't work."_

_"Of course it wouldn't!" interjected Hermione. _

_"And so he courted me himself."_

_It seemed like the temperature in the room had dropped below zero in an instant. Harriet feared what she might find in her friends' faces, but she looked nonetheless. And what she saw scared her more than any Dark Lord could ever scare her._

_Silence, in all of their mouths. Even Ron, who was usually the slowest one, had come to the same shocking realization. The red head looked slightly green. Hermione looked like she was looking for the right thing to say. Sirius looked a bit betrayed. Remus… Remus was looking at her as he might look at the moon, scared that she'd crush his will and turn him into nothing but an animal. She was aware of their distress, and how it reflected on her own expression._

_"When I came back, he sent Bellatrix to call off the attack in the Ministry before taking me to his father's manor so we could talk. I realized that the ritual we'd used to send me back had protected the timeline by blocking everyone's memories – which is why he couldn't remember our encounter in 1948 up until I'd experienced it myself. Same with Dumbledore. It's as if it hadn't happened – until I had memory of it. And then… we talked about the war, about what we were going to do. I… I know I can't just go on like nothing happened, but I can't just throw away everything he's done to me and to the wizarding world. So we agreed to reach a compromise."_

_"W-what?" uttered Sirius in a hoarse voice, as if the news had made him forget how to speak. "Wait a minute, Harriet... y-you…"_

_"I fell in love. He… he got as close as someone like him can be."_

_"Harry, but he's monster! Think about what he's done! He can't understand what love really is!"_

_"Hermione, I'm not claiming he feels love in the same way you and I do. Both whatever his feelings are… they are enough to change him. It sounds really stupid, I know, but I've seen it. He's sane. He's whole. I'm sure you know about this…" Harriet looked hopefully at her godfathers. "Snape must've told you."_

_"Well, it's true that he's been laying low and that there's been reports of his… disposing of his most insane followers," Remus said slowly. "But that could mean anything. Maybe he's just using that to trick you. He's a consummate liar, Harry. Don't forget that."_

_"I know… but I can see through that," she tapped at her forehead. "Maybe not always, but I'd know it if he didn't really mean it. At some point his feelings would've betrayed him."_

_"You mean like… oh god, you've been seeing him this whole summer."_

_"Yes," she told her horrified godfather, and was suddenly aware of the hickey on her neck and the direction of their thoughts. "Look, we've been talking. About what we can do. It's not that I'll just run into my parents' murderer's arms. I'm aware of who he is. But for some reason, he feels like home, and he makes me happy. Sounds crazy, and maybe I am, but I've decided that this is my way. He'll not stop in his search for power – so instead of fighting him I'll help him get it. And I'll be his conscience. I'll stop him before he goes back to the murdering monster he was before."_

_What her words might have fallen short of expressing was instead shown in her stare. Bright green emeralds shining with conviction and hope – and they knew, all of them knew that nothing they could say would sway her. That maybe there was more to her words than her misconceptions, than their misconceptions. _

_"I… I need to think about this," said Sirius, sitting down. Slumped shoulders and heavy stare made him look ten years older, and Harriet hated to be the one causing her godfather so much distress. But it had to be done. _

_"Yes. Please, think about what I've said. I'm not asking you to do anything – just to believe in me. I'll be here when you want to talk about this again. I'm just asking you to please not repeat a word of this to anyone."_

* * *

"Scorpius!" shouted Sal's squeaky voice as he tried to catch up to his friend, who was running ahead of him with a golden snitch in his hand.

"Salazar!" the blond boy shouted back, giggling as he teased the smaller boy.

Above them, from the balcony outside of Lord Voldemort's office, Lucius Malfoy shared a drink with his master. "It always amazes me how they never seem to run out of energy."

"Quite an enviable trait for someone of your position, I assume," Voldemort said with a smirk. "The years have been good to you, Lucius, but it is obvious that time has run its course."

"Are you so anxious to be rid of me, my Lord?"

"And lose all the entertainment that your little games provide? No, no… That boy of yours is useful in all the ways that matter, but he has not inherited your skill in politics. Too brash, too spoiled. "

Malfoy inclined his head. Had it come from anyone else, he'd have hexed the man on the spot – it was a grave insult to his family, and more importantly, to his pride, to speak about his son's flaws. But coming from his Lord, and in this setting, it was more of a stated fact than a verbal strike. He was simply making a point – and Lucius understood.

"And he's closer to your wife than he is to you," he said, knowing what his Lord was getting at. It'd been a long time since the day that he'd swore his allegiance out of fear rather than respect – but his Lord had come a long way since then. Lucius was proud to say that if there was anything resembling a friend in his Lord's life, it was probably him. And he didn't just say it because of the power and status that came with said title – after his Lord had been rid of his madness, he'd truly shown why he was called the greatest dark lord in centuries. Lucius felt respect and admiration for the man beside him – and in spite of an initial reluctance on his part, he also felt thankful to Harriet Potter, who had given them back the man that was to lead them to greatness.

Voldemort regarded him with a small smile, onyx eyes penetrating in their stare. "Yes. Which is why I'll have to ask you to remain where you are for now."

"Are the rumors true then?"

"Partially," the Dark Lord said, levitating his glass back to the coffee table inside with wandless magic. "Whoever started them is obviously not very knowledgeable of my wife's character. Harriet is loyal to the point of stupidity. But she's not entirely conscious of her station, which makes her very susceptible to the influence of those she considers closest to her."

Lucius nodded, suddenly understanding the gravity of the situation. "That's why you're trying to limit her influence."

"The years have made her vicious, yet strangely enough she's always retained a certain naivety – I am simply protecting her from herself."

* * *

Harriet hid under the hem of her hat as the midsummer sun attacked them relentlessly. Her clear blue dress billowed in the wind, making her appear younger than she was. At her side, an equally young-looking Draco Malfoy looked around the pristine-looking garden, trying to spot the little devils hiding from them.

"It's a shame Astoria couldn't come. I wanted to meet little Eris."

"It's this damn summer flu – Astoria doesn't want to take the risk. We have a history of falling prey to illnesses."

"Ah, yes. I was sorry to hear your grandfather died. You and Lucius are a lot like him."

They both sat under a gazebo, enjoying the slight fragrances from the garden enveloping them. "You never told me much about him, from your trip." He said, suddenly looking at her with naked interest in his gaze.

"He made me realize that your sneer is a genetic trait," Harriet said with a smile. "He was just as uptight as a Malfoy can be, just as handsome, just as arrogant. He despised me at first, until I kicked his ass in a duel. That earned me his respect."

"Well, that seems to be the way you relate to us Malfoys – we hate your guts until you prove yourself," Draco smirked.

"I never really proved myself to you – you just became friendly to me because Scorpius needed a playmate and Salazar was the only on within his age group. And he's also your Lord's son."

"Ouch."

Harriet laughed. "It's true though. And it pains your father – he'd prefer you become chummy with my husband rather than me."

"You're certainly the lesser evil in this case."

"Are you a coward, Malfoy? And to think you wanted to join the Aurors."

"My talents are better used elsewhere."

"Oh?"

At this, the blond man became serious. "Your political ingenuity, Harriet… in this, you are truly a damsel in distress."

The dark-haired woman huffed. "You underestimate me. I don't need your protection."

"And I'm not offering it. But I can lend you my knowledge, should you choose to use it."

Harriet stared at the man for a moment. She was aware she had little skill as a politician, but so far she'd thought she'd done as decently as one would expect from her position.

"Papa!" a little blond ball shot out of the bushes in front of them, throwing himself at his father. Harriet saw the grimace of the man at the hug – and the dirt in his offspring's clothes, which were in turn dirtying his own. She couldn't help but giggle. _Trust Draco Malfoy to be so uptight about his clothes._

"Mum, where is father?"

She smiled at her son and looked to the balcony of his office, where she could spot two blotches of hair, one raven-black and the other white-blond. "Off in his study, plotting world domination with Scorpius' grandpa."

"What is world do-mi-na-shon?" repeated Scorpius at his father's side.

"It's what father does! He makes people do stuff."

"All around the world," said Harriet, giggling. "And he's also very grumpy because of it."

"But mum also likes world domination!" exclaimed Salazar loudly, as if to show he was really proud of understanding the concept.

"Yes," interjected Draco, "but she sucks at it."

"Nuh-uh she doesn't," Salazar glowered at the man, to which Scorpius countered "yeah she does, dad said it!"

"Want to bet how many times they're going to go back and forth with this until we reach the manor?" said Harriet in a hushed whisper while their kids screamed at each other. Draco laughed and began walking back to the building.

* * *

"Have your spies told you about this?" the incensed voice of Harriet Potter-Gaunt echoed in the chamber as she stormed into her husband's office one Saturday night. The pristine white of the stone under her feet seemed to scream as the grime and blood from the battlefield left a muddy trace over it. She'd come with her unit into the Ministry as soon as the raid was over – it was a first for her, who was aware of her reputation and just how the sight of her bloodied visage could affect it. People would be even more scared of her, but she had more pressing matters to attend. And so she'd sent the rest of her unit to give the reports she'd felt were necessary while she checked in with her husband.

Voldemort looked up to find his wife with a dirty, torn piece of clothing in her hand – a Belgian battle uniform. She found more questions than answers when he snatched it from her, his onyx eyes turning red in an instant.

"_No,_" he hissed, venomously. "_You may've caught me a little spy._"

"_There were at least three Belgian units with them, waiting for us. It was a fucking ambush. Captain Bones had sent just one unit for scouting – they were massacred. We had to go in – two of them managed to get away. We kept another two for questioning._"

"_This is unacceptable,_" Voldemort's rage was palpable. Harriet understood why. They'd signed a treaty with most European countries after their takeover, to ensure that they wouldn't try anything too bold. But unlike the British, who'd grown used to Voldemort's reign during the decade and half he'd been in power, many European countries were extremely wary of him. And for good reason. Harriet was sure that as soon as he got the rebellion thing finally under control he'd try to build an empire.

_"When you're finished with the prisoners, send them to me," _he hissed, and Harriet nodded. Some part of her still rebelled against the common interrogation methods used by her units, which had been specifically outlined by Voldemort… but then she remembered the faces of the young squad who'd been ambushed and figured that this was the price the soldiers paid for their choices.

"_I will," _she turned to leave, but a hand on her wand hand stopped her. She turned around as he pulled her to him. He didn't seem to mind her grime staining his clothes, or his hands, or his face, because soon he was kissing her fiercely. Tongue and teeth, cool breath and hunger on one side and sweat and exhaustion on the other. She thought about stopping for a moment, but her body was still running high on adrenaline and she felt like she could use one last battle for the day.

She gripped onto his clothes, maiming and tearing and staining and wanting oh-so-badly to taste his flesh. She'd been healed by her Healers but now she needed this one last cure – and so methodically, so passionately it was delivered step by step by the dark wizard.

"_You look like a war goddess,_" he murmured into her flesh, and she threw him to the ground, climbing on top of him. It was as if time had not passed and she was sixteen and curious and hungry for the knowledge of the unknown – and he was young and careless all over again, taking what he'd never thought he'd take before. Mouth on mouth, breaths mingling and the smell of death hanging around them.

Voldemort's bright scarlet eyes were open and staring, drinking hungrily her lean, athletic form as she stripped for him. "_I am your knight in shining armor,_" she said with a smirk, _"and I come here to bring you the heads of your enemies, my king."_

_"Yesss…" _he hissed, arching into her. He ached to be inside her, to taste and consume his Death Incarnate. And so he climbed up her form, small aching butterfly kisses savagely transforming into teeth and blood as he rediscovered a path he knew all too well. Her hands were bruising under his grip, but he hurt and she let herself be hurt in their painful ecstasy.

She was writhing under him when he entered her – so wantonly, so submissive, so rare to see when her eyes were filled by her pureness and his madness and her face was still stained with the blood of her enemies. She was nothing under him and he was nothing above her – just the God of Death and the Goddess of War and their communion which brought chaos and greatness into the world.

As they lay panting on the ground, limbs intertwined and complementary eyes gazing at each other, she heard him say, "Prepare for a little trip. We're going to Belgium tomorrow."

* * *

Harriet felt a light tug on her ponytail, and blearily looked up from her very comfortable position on her desk to look at the intruder. Sirius Black stood in front of her, eyes sparkling mischievously. His long hair was tied back, Harriet noted, which meant that he'd been working late at the Intel office. He'd refused to cut his hair after Remus' death, and after seven years it'd grown from his trademark shoulder-length raven curls to a wild silver-stained mane that reached to his waist. She knew he preferred it untied, but at work it was simply a nuisance.

"Oh, I didn't think you'd get it so quickly," she said, straightening her back and rubbing the sleep off her eyes.

"Four manors around the country, including a castle, and you're sleeping on your desk? Tsk, tsk, General Potter, you're just making yourself age faster," the man said with a cheeky smile. Harriet felt one creeping to her face, infected by her godfather's happy-go-lucky attitude.

"I was resting my eyes!" she huffed. "But anyway now that you mention it, I should really go home. I was expecting a letter, but that can wait until the morning. Now, as for Sal… "

"Yes, I'll watch over him. Don't worry about it," Sirius said, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. "I'll eat all the food your elves can prepare, though."

"Well you're not thirty anymore, Sirius, and you've got your ladies to please…"

"Are you calling me a fat old man?"

"Not yet. But maybe in a week I will."

"Cheeky brat," he laughed. Harriet stood up, ordering the papers she'd left scattered on her desk. She felt Sirius' brief hesitation before he spoke up again, "before you go, I should probably tell you about some disturbing reports I got this morning."

Harriet frowned and stopped her movements. "Go on."

"Fourteen men were found missing in their cells in Azkaban yesterday. Most of them petty thieves, rats, average criminal scum. Dementors like to gather a few in groups to torment them from time to time, so the warden thought that was the case and didn't report it. But they weren't in their cells this morning and that raised a few alarms. The warden tried to report it, but he was told to hush it up and give them a fake burial, under the pretense that it'd cost too many resources to try to investigate what happened."

Harriet sat on her desk, a small hand absent-mindedly untangling the knots in her hair. "All of this is off the record, right? Should I ask the warden myself…?"

"He'll tell you they died after a hunger strike or something similar," his grey eyes closed for a moment as he massaged his temple. "I'm not surprised that they'd try to cover up an inmate's death, after all I've seen it happen myself. But the order came usually from the warden after a guard got a bit too spell-happy with an inmate or two. That _fourteen_ men would disappear like that, so suddenly and without the warden knowing about it..."

Harriet nodded. "Yes, suspicious to say the least. I'll leave someone to look into it."

Sirius laid a hand on her arm. "Make sure it's someone very trustworthy. I have a bad feeling about this, considering today's ambush… He shouldn't make you go with him. It's not the time to leave the country without its leaders."

The woman sighed. "I know. But if we let this pass, we'll have not only the rebels and the Belgians to worry about, but also Spain, France, Germany… You know how uneasy they are about us. They'll take any excuse to erase us from the map."

"Yeah…" the word was left hanging in the air, as if the older man was debating whether to keep going or to keep quiet. Harriet stared at him inquisitively. "It's just that… isn't it a bit convenient? For Belgium to take sides in foreign matters as the rebellion dwindles."

"Well, maybe it's because they see our opposition vanish that they finally want to lend a hand to them – maybe stir up some trouble. I don't know."

"Be careful with that, Harriet. Considering who your husband is, it's probably best if you do know."

* * *

Harriet woke up at dawn to an empty bed. It took her a moment to fully register the events of the previous day, and when she did she let out a tired sigh. _This war will never end_, she thought sullenly before jumping out of bed. A few charms and a trip to the bathroom later, she hurried to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast before kissing her son goodbye and catching up with Voldemort at the ministry.

She was in for a surprise when she found him sitting on the table, waving his fingers as he levitated small pieces of fruits for Salazar, who was giggling delightedly. Harriet smiled softly at them, basking in the warmth of the homely scene.

"I thought you'd already left," she said, sitting on Voldemort's left and in front of Sal, who was trying to catch the fruit with his hands. "He'll not let you get them unless you use your magic, darling."

"Why?" the boy pouted.

"It's important that you develop control over your magic at an early age, Salazar. It'll make it easier for you to learn spells later on," Voldemort instructed.

"He also wants you to be an overbearing over-achiever like him," Harriet said, taking a small bite from the sandwich one of her elves had just brought her. That earned a confused look from her son and an annoyed one from her husband. "What? It's true. Look, sweetheart, all you have to do is to focus on what you want."

"Mmh," the young boy nodded, and looked from his mother to the floating fruit. He extended one hand, the small chubby fingers closing and opening as if he was trying to reach for it. A moment passed before one of the berries in front of him started to slowly move, and Salazar cried in delight. And with his cry came a small explosion of fruit, as the pieces in front of him were sent flying in all directions.

Harriet laughed, using her wand to wash the remnants of food on her son's face and hair. "Next time we'll have to try with something that doesn't stain."

"You should go change your clothes," said Voldemort as his son pouted. "Black will be here soon."

"Cursing us to hell and back for making him wake up so early," muttered Harriet as she watched Salazar run back to his room. "This was a nice surprise. I'd expected you to be fretting over last minute details before our trip."

"That, I did last night," he told her as he motioned for the elves to clean the mess Sal had made.

"Oh, this was pure sentimentality on your part," the black-haired woman smiled amusedly. "That alone is enough to make my week."

Voldemort smiled.

* * *

Ron Weasley was not having a good week. It had not been a week since the doping scandal of the _Appleby Arrows_, which had put his office in the eye of the storm. _The pressure of the World Cup must be Cracking! Weasley_, the read head muttered under his breath, repeating a common headline in the sports section of all the newspapers of Britain in the last days. He'd requested a revision of the anti-doping spells to St. Mungo's three months before, and the damn case had seen it fit to explode before their work was finished. And so the journalists were having a field day writing puns with drug names for their articles.

Now, his secretary was missing.

Sometimes he wondered how Harriet did it – being in command of an army wasn't an easy feat, and he was sure it was a paperwork nightmare. He routinely lost track of the pending work, the meetings, the comings and goings and whos and whats, and that's why he relied so much on George. The student was a bit slow at times, but he was organized and that was exactly what Ron needed.

"Damn it, Freybird, where is George?!" he shouted as he stormed back into his office. He checked the small agenda George kept with his appointments and reminders, skimming over the man's neat handwriting as he searched his appointments for the day.

_None._

"Huh? That's weird…" he muttered. A lean man in his thirties entered into the office then, carrying a small letter. "I haven't seen him since yesterday, but he left this for you. You think he quit?"

"No," Ron murmured pensively as he stared at the light blue letter, his memory suddenly recalling something… "Freybird, deal with the press for today. Tell Mag to send next year's budget to the Reserves office. I'm not seeing anyone."

Roger Freybird noticed but didn't comment on his boss' change of demeanor. He nodded, and after leaving the envelope on Ron's desk he left.

Behind closed doors, Ron conjured a Patronus. "Hermione," he whispered to the silvery Jack Russell Terrier, "George went ahead with it. Sirius has already told Harriet, she'll leave one of her own to chase that trail. Be careful, they might be already onto us."

* * *

Harriet would've liked to know what the plan was, but she had some experience with the last-minute tactics that Voldemort would pull at times. And so she knew that it was completely futile of her to try and get information out of him – if the fact that only the two of them were sneaking into Belgium incognito was any indication, she guessed that he was going to do some theatrics. Which meant that she needed to stay on her toes the whole time.

It was a risky move, and she wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to achieve by showing up in front of the Belgian minister instead of asking for an audience. _Or better yet, sending them the heads of those two soldiers. _After a decade and a half of marriage, she frequently wondered about the inner workings of his mind, but so far she hadn't managed to find an answer that would explain why such a crazy man was so brilliant.

"_Can you even tell me where we'll make our big entrance?_" she hissed as they made their way through the crowd. Muggle Brussels was loud and imposing; with people coming and going in a rush that Harriet had come to associate only with the Muggle world. They ducked into an alleyway between two antique buildings, and Harriet took a moment to check for any wizards who might've noticed their arrival.

"_Correct me if I'm wrong, but there's a worrying lack of security around this place. Even if that was an untraceable portkey, I'd have expected them to have some record of our arrival," _she said as she approached Voldemort, who was tapping the wall in front of him with his wand.

"_It speaks well of our country that you'd assume so,_" he murmured, before pressing a finger into a brick. Harriet noted that it looked particularly worn and scratched in comparison to its neighbors. _Easy to find, if you know what you're looking for_, she thought.

"_Nonetheless, not all countries are as concerned with security as they should be,_" Voldemort took a step back and waited until the entrance had materialized in front of them before going in. Harriet became aware of just how little of the world she'd seen when she stepped into the atrium of the Belgian Ministry of Magic, which looked more like a giant greenhouse than the imposing, sharp lobby that she was used to. It was markedly different from home, and she idly wondered if all ministries had their own special touch in décor.

"_Can we get an atrium like this?_" she asked, falling into step with Voldemort.

"_Why content ourselves with a replica when we can acquire the real thing?_"

Harriet shot him a worried look, but kept silent. They were spared not a single glance as they navigated through the pathways that led to the elevators – they'd used small glamour charms to alter their appearance enough not to be recognizable. A confident stroll was taken as a sign of routine – they acted like they walked the same way every day, and everybody else assumed that was the case.

"_This is too easy… they didn't even ask for our ids!_" Harriet murmured once they were alone in one of the elevators, rising up to the twenty-eight floor.

"_Tell me Harriet, if one of your agents told you that the two most important figures in the enemy government were going to simply walk up to the Ministry and knock on your door, would you believe it?_"

"_Probably not… if sober, that is,_" she murmured, fiddling with her wand. "_Your ideas are so good. It creeps me out sometimes._"

She got a very condescending pat on the head in return, which in turn earned the Dark Lord to her side an angry look. "_Ready yourself, darling,_" he said, dropping their glamour charms as the elevator came to a stop. "_We have a message to deliver._"

The sight of pristine white doors and a blond woman in the desk to the side left a very strange taste in Harriet's mouth. This was unlike she'd ever done before – she'd fought in the battlefield, she'd organized her troops, she'd taught and learnt, she'd killed and been injured… but it was a strange, harmonic dance in which her enemies and her both knew of the danger they cloaked themselves in. It eased her mind that there was a strange justice to it all – survival relied on luck and skill; and everyone was ready to accept the consequences of their failures.

But this, what they were going to do… she was no fool. And although she'd had no other option but to accept the all-consuming nature of Voldemort's bloodlust and greed, she still felt uneasy when he saw him raise his wand to kill. That had been the reason she'd maneuvered herself into his army in the first place; to protect him from the temptations of the battlefield. It was a terrible place where terrible people lived; where the limitless of one's actions was justified and where psychopaths found the power they relished. It was easy to soak oneself with the rush, in the air crackling with magic and screaming, and it was even easier to lose oneself in it. And because she saw it as a curse rather than a blessing, she chose to take Voldemort's place.

But now it wasn't King and his General, it was Death and War they were playing. _I'm still the same man that killed your family_, he'd told her once. And she'd kept that close to her heart, because even in spite of her leaving so many things behind for their happiness, she would not leave the past behind.

"_Je suis désolé, monsieur, mais le ministre est au milieu d'une réunion en ce moment_,"* Harriet heard the blonde woman say.

"_Ne vous inquiétez pas, le ministre a été d'attendre nous,_" Voldemort replied with a smile, before freezing the girl in her place with a nonverbal _Impedimenta. _With a careless wave of his yew wand the doors that led to the Minister's office were thrown open, immediately startling the people inside. Harriet recognized some of their faces from diplomatic meetings she'd had to endure in her time, and was curious to notice that the Belgian minister had been talking with the German and Russian ambassadors, as well as some officers from the European Wizarding World Union.

"Good morning gentlemen." A soft baritone coated in nothing but pleasantness contrasting against the sharp, loud entrance. There was a smirk on Voldemort's face keeping company to the wicked gleam in his eyes, and had he not been already a man with a reputation, his expression alone would've made the dignitaries uneasy.

"Lord Voldemort!" cried the Belgian Minister in surprise, rising from his chair. Harriet noticed he'd left his wand forgotten on the desk, and felt her eyebrows rise. _These… _politicians_ thought they could get away with murdering our own?_

"And General Potter," came the accented voice of the German ambassador. She nodded in his direction, but otherwise made no move to take the stage. This was Voldemort's show. "May I ask what pleasantries bring you here today?"

"Oh, pleasantries indeed Herr Wernicke," answered the dark wizard. "I assume it's already reached the morning papers."

"What are you talking about?" asked one of the EWWU diplomats.

"We're talking about this," Harriet said, tossing a ragged Belgian combat robe on the desk with a wave of her wand. "Twenty of my men were massacred by your troops," she spat, anger rising to the surface. "On British soil, no less. And without provocation."

"And you know what we call that, Minister?" Said Voldemort softly, "A declaration of war."

The man in question paled, his thick-rimmed glasses enlarging his already bulging eyes. "I'm sure there's been a mistake, I-I'm not aware of any troop movement in the last week in or out of the country."

"Do not presume to use your incompetence to excuse the massacring of twenty of my subjects," the Dark Lord said venomously. "Belgium has violated the No Wolf treaty, and as of this moment I, Lord Voldemort, King and Ruler of the United Kingdom declare that a state of war exists between the government of Belgium and the government that I represent."

The EWWU diplomats rose from their chairs, their faces indignant. "This is unthinkable! There're no records of military action brought against your country, sir," said one. "The protocol dictates that you submit a forced military action investigation request first!"

"I don't believe there's anything to investigate, _sir_," Harriet said. "The evidence and verdict are right on that table."

"With all due respect, my lady," the youngest of the EWWU representatives began saying, "there's a reason-"

"I'm not your lady," the black-haired woman interrupted him scathingly, "and you'll refer to me by rank and name."

"General Potter," Wernicke said, standing up to put a hand on the young representative's shoulder, "I believe that what Mr. García Allende wanted to say was that there is a need to ascertain whether the troop that attacked your men really was of Belgian origin, and if it wasn't, to find the true culprit behind this."

"While that is reasonable, I believe I have a more efficient way to ascertain the origin of the attack," said Voldemort in a soft voice. All the heads in the room snapped in his direction, his statement cutting like a knife through the tension in the air. He produced a small pouch from his pocket, and held it at arm's length in front of him. "Call your generals, Minister. They'll have to answer for you."

The Belgian stood frozen in place, and it wasn't until Wernicke gave him a soft nudge that he seemed to return to his senses. He took one of the small marble lion figurines on his desk and tapped it on the head with his wand. "_J'ai besoin de la présence de monsieur Van Noppen et le monsieur Bouhouche"_. As soon as he finished, the figurine came to life and dashed through the door.

Before Harriet could wonder if they were going to take long to arrive, two men entered the room, looking visibly worried. As soon as their eyes landed on Voldemort they raised their wands, a sharp movement carried out in a way that Harriet found entirely too familiar.

"Lower your wands, gentlemen, we are having a civilized discussion," Voldemort chided them as if they were children, not even bothering to raise his own wand. Harriet was aware of the veiled insult in his actions, and was not surprised to see the generals tense.

"They are here now, Lord Voldemort; show them what you meant to show," Wernicke's grandfatherly manner reminded Harriet of her old Headmaster. She wondered if Voldemort saw the similarities as well, and if it irked him as much as it irked her.

"Very well," he said, not missing a beat. He held the pouch upside down, tossing down the contents to the floor. Dark little balls of hair fell from the little bag, engorging and twisting as they neared the floor, gaining back their natural size.

"Oh Merlin's beard!" someone screamed, and Harriet heard a "thump" as one of the EWWU representatives fell to the floor unconscious. She spared a blank look at her husband, who was greedily drinking in the horrified expressions of the politicians in the room. Their eyes briefly crossed when he noticed her staring at him, and she felt a small flare of pain in her scar.

"Dios m-mío," murmured García Allende to her right as he stared at the decapitated heads of what she presumed were four of the Belgian wizards that had ambushed her men. _Presume being the key word here, _Harriet thought._ I ordered them to incinerate the bodies right after we secured the perimeter. Those heads should be ashes right now._

"Do you recognize your men, generals?" asked Voldemort as the men in front of him stared at the unseeing whites of the heads on the floor.

"You will pay for this, monster," said the tallest general in a thick accent, and moved his wand in a swish that Harriet recognized all too well. _Fuerit Dissolutum_ she imagined him chanting in his mind… but before he could even call forth his magic, he fell to the floor. Face contorted in agony and limbs twitching with the spams generated by the Cruciatus curse, blood began to flow out of his mouth as he bit his tongue to contain his screams.

His partner's agony prompted a response from the second general, and this time it was Harriet's turn to cut him short – a quick and precise crushing hex to the man's wrists left him kneeling on the floor, unable to use his wand. She'd been too focused on him to notice Voldemort's favorite spell being cast – and she couldn't help but startle at the green light that enveloped the room.

"Now that we have a satisfactory answer to our inquiry," the dark wizard said with a chuckle that made everyone's blood turn cold, "we shall proceed with our first hostile action."

Harriet looked at the cowering men, and then at the father of her child. With a quick wave of her wand, she stunned them one by one, until the only conscious people in the room were Voldemort and her. The man turned to her, anger clear in his shining scarlet eyes.

"This is senseless slaughter," she said, unwavering stare meeting his with all the force of her stubbornness. "We'll take the minister as a political prisoner. The rest have nothing to do with this."

Voldemort closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He approached his wife until they were not a breath away from each other. Harriet tensed, not sure what she should expect. He laid a hand on the crook of her neck, covering her scar. She stayed still, her only sight being the robes covering his chest. She then felt the tender brush of his lips on her forehead.

"_Stupefy._"

And then Harriet's world went black.

* * *

She awoke with a gasp, opening her eyes wide and reaching to the sky – where she hoped to find Voldemort. But she was alone, on a strange bed in a strange room, bathing in the moonlight. She took her head in her hands – _what had happened?_ And felt her memories rushing back in.

_I'm still the same man that killed your parents_.

She bit her lip. _I am aware of that_, she replied to the man's voice in her head. But he was so much more. And she wanted him to realize how constricting his lust for power really was. How blinded he became by the games and the pushing and pulling, his beautiful complex mind degenerating into a one-direction track. She'd tried to keep him away from battle, and he'd relished in her choice because he knew it kept her away from what had been constricting her. _A sense of duty, instilled by people who wanted her to be useful before anything else. _

_He's going back at it, _she thought, _and I'll follow him. What else is there for me to do?_

A noise in the back of the room startled her. She chided herself for her absent-mindedness – it could've cost her life. But she recognized the presence, and soon her eyes could make the silhouette of her husband's form. Clothed in black, dark curls falling on his unnaturally young face (she noted with some surprise that they both actually looked the same age now), onyx eyes so piercing and sinister in the darkness.

"It's like we could play the old medieval story – you are Death and I'm the maiden."

Voldermort smiled, slowly approaching the bed. "_Gib deine Hand, du schön und zart Gebild_," he said softly. "_Sollst sanft in meinen Armen schlafen_."**

"Come, savage man of bone," Harriet said as he extended her hand. "Wasn't that what she said?"

"I believe she was rejecting him," the wizard said as he took the offered hand and climbed into the bed, letting himself be pulled into her arms. "Why would she welcome death?"

"Maybe it was already part of her. Maybe she wanted to go back home," she felt hands on her arms, a grip tight enough to bruise, and hot breath on her nose.

"You will not welcome death," Voldemort said with a certain desperate edge in his voice she'd only heard him use when she'd been left with the scar in her neck. "Not now, or ever."

Harriet chuckled, resting her hands on his shoulders. "I will die someday. It's part of life. I'll see Sal become a grown man; I'll meet my grandchildren, maybe my great-grandchildren as well… I'll kill your enemies until I'm no good to fight, and then I'll die."

The older man shifted his body so he'd be holding her. She rested her head on his chest, and counted the beats of his heart. "I am over eighty years old, but my appearance is that of a man barely past his thirties. Have you ever wondered if this lack of physical decay may actually be an indication of something else?"

"More times than I can count. And every single time I've come to the same answer."

"Which is?"

"You've obviously achieved some sort of physical immortality. How you went about it, I don't know nor care. I am happy with the knowledge that you achieved something you wanted. You'll live on well after the time I'm gone, hopefully not creating chaos and disaster wherever you go."

She heard him sigh. "I will overdose with your sentimentality long before I can even try to cause a riot or two," at this Harriet giggled. "You promised me to be by my side, Harriet," he said softly, "but sometimes I wonder if you really knew what you were agreeing to."

Harriet sat up abruptly. "Or maybe it's the other way around. I can hardly see how that might mean I should bend to your whims," her emerald eyes were bright with the errant rays they caught from the moonlight. "You also promised to be by my side. You will not take the decision away from me – I'll follow you into eternity if _I_ choose to do so."

She put a finger to his lips, cutting off his next words. "What you did today was unacceptable. I'll not be taken for a fool, Voldemort. I am your general and your wife, as much as you're my King and husband. You will listen to my words regardless of whether I agree with you or not."

Voldemort's dark eyes flashed as he viciously bit her finger. She gasped, and tried to take away her hand before his arm shot up, grabbing her wrist in a tight grip. "A beautiful sentiment, wife of mine," he said, mouth close to her ear. "Impractical and stupid, but nonetheless beautiful. You are aware of the risk we were in – I could not afford any openings."

"You are very much aware that if there was any logic to what you wanted to do, you could've just told me right then and I'd have understood," her voice was smothered by his clothes, but that didn't make it lose its strength. "Sometimes you forget I'm not eighteen anymore. I'm not your daughter – so don't patronize me."

He laughed – a hoarse, pitiful little sound that made it appear bitterer than it really was. "Very well, I may have overreacted. My impatience to get my work done might have driven me to stun you so you wouldn't interfere. However I have my plans regarding this war, and I'm very keen to see them through."

Harriet pursued her lips, but didn't comment on his half-hearted apology. She moved away from him, sitting where she could see his eyes. "Okay, tell me your plans."

He smirked. "Impressive interrogation tactics, General Potter."

She laughed; it was a light and airy sound that contrasted sharply with the room, with the company, with the echoes of his previous laughter. He found the contrast delicious, balanced in its own right. "Very well," he said then "I was hoping to make an impression. You will not be able to see it from here, but I left the bodies exposed in front of the Cathedral of St. Michael and St. Gudula."

"Again with the ego thing?"

"It's more than that," he whispered. "Harriet, are you aware of the prestige you've earned for your leadership and tactical skills? Are you aware of the strangeness of our positions? I play the role of King, but you're not Queen. "

"Yes. What does that-?"

He sighed, "Think. I am a Dark Lord, but I haven't seen battle since you took the army for yourself. Even if my fame precedes me, nowadays I am but a mere politician in their eyes. And today," he said with a small smile, "today you saw how easy it is to take a country out of a politician's hands."

Harriet felt her heart sink. "So, you're telling me that I'm…"

"Oh, no," he smirked, "Harriet I wouldn't be able to pluck you from the field even if that was my desire. And I need my General to do this."

Voldemort took Harriet's face in his hands, aware of her questioning stare. "You and I alone will conquer this country. Can you do this for me, Knight? Can you give me this pitiful little land?"

* * *

Harriet was not entirely convinced of the sanity of her husband, but she had no other choice but to comply this time. England had officially declared war, which had been something that many European nations had been expecting for years, and now they had to present themselves as a strong foe before the enemy came knocking on their doors, under the pretense of being a "liberation force" of some sort.

She was aware that the world had been waiting for a polite excuse to burn them to the ground, after Voldemort and she had joined forces. The Chosen One and the Darkest Wizard in Centuries? Unthinkable! _And dangerous. It really surprises me that they have kept the peace for so long, _she thought to herself as she looked at the parchment in her hand.

And the tactic had some merit. It was crazy and bold, but provided that they managed to pull it off, it'd give them a great advantage over any aspiring invader. After all, who wanted to face a nation whose leaders could invade a country just by themselves? _Give it to him to think of the ultimate defense as a consequence of the ultimate offense. _

"Population, three thousand five hundred and thirty three," she read, "aurors in active service, one hundred and twenty two. Woah, with the population growth declining like this, this'll become a wasteland."

"It is not such an impossible matter, then?" Voldemort said with derision. Harriet felt like being childish and stuck her tongue at him. He ignored her and pointed at the map they'd laid in front of them. "They're scattered around the country".

"Biggest concentration is here, of course…" she said pensively as she read the numbers. "We have to expect at least thirty, at worst fifty to appear right away. What about the ones in the country?"

"They'll be taken care of. Your focus shall be on the city. Be quick and discreet, our goal is to dispose of them as fast as possible."

"I am just a diversion, then. What about you?"

The man smirked. "I'll be at the funeral of the late minister, of course."

* * *

"Are you absolutely sure these aren't forged?" Ron asked, staring incredulously at the crumpled papers in his hands. Hermione frowned as she read from above his shoulder, wand fidgeting between her fingers. "You know how anxious they are to get a quick galleon nowadays."

"I know, boss," George said. "I asked my girlfriend to test it… you know she's in forensics and all that biz. Turns out it's a real copy of the memo."

"If we could get a trace of the money transfer…" Hermione bit her lip. "I know it's impossible, given that they had enough sense to do it through the goblins, but don't they use human notaries for that?"

"They used to. Malfoy passed new regulations last year," Ron answered. "The git obviously wanted to cover all the shady business he does."

"The King and him," Hermione corrected her husband. "So basically we have an order here from top office, requesting that…" she took the parchment from the redhead's hands, "_three thousand galleons be transferred to Aldrich Blythe_, supposedly for his 'services to the crown', whatever that means."

"But this Blythe bloke doesn't exist," Ron nodded, "and we have records showing that Audrey Mayflower took the money."

"Isn't she one of the big names of the BLF?" asked George before realization dawned on him. "Oh. So they're actively funding them. Gosh, that's…"

"Completely within Voldemort's character. Ron, do you think Harriet's aware of any of this?"

The man in question snorted. "Like hell she is. He took her off the case; maybe she was getting a bit too close to the truth…"

"Or maybe the BLF was outliving their usefulness," Hermione ran a hand through her hair, like she always did when she found the answer to a particularly difficult problem. "These documents are dated six months ago, and George's source said they were the most recent ones. There was also a marked lack of activity within that period. But if they were out of government money, and with very little numbers… why did they launch these big name attacks this week?"

"Desperation?" George said as he shrugged. "Or maybe they got rash after striking a deal with the Belgians."

"Maybe. It smells bad though," Ron shook his head. Hermione rested a hand on his shoulder. She was worried not only about the whole thing, but also about Harriet. _She obviously doesn't know a thing. And now he got her to go to the continent with him. What are you playing at, Voldemort?_

* * *

She heard the sound of fireworks above her head, but her eyes couldn't catch more than a few sparks shining bright against the evening sky as she tried to find her next target. Her nose was burning with the acrid smell of burning flesh, the unrelenting smoke swirling and twisting around her as she made her way through the abandoned muggle factory. _Got four already, and out of pure luck, _she thought. Three had fallen prey to the decaying structure of the building they'd been meeting in when she started her attack. Their two companions had managed to evade the hubris, and began engaging her in a fierce battle.

Although they were skilled, she immediately noted they were inexperienced. They moved with grace and agility, but they made rushed choices – soon she was able to gain the upper hand. With a cry of _Bombarda!_ she set ablaze the small space left among the crumbling structure of the factory. A thump and pained screams alerted her that she'd hit more than dried leaves and dead vegetation. She sighed, taking great care in not faltering in her step. She couldn't afford any weakness while there was still one auror at large.

The wind caressed her face as she stepped outside. A plethora of whispers could be heard coming from somewhere in the alleys surrounding the old factory, but they stopped abruptly before she could pinpoint their origin.

_Fuck_, she thought, as she belatedly realized that the missing auror had managed to get away to warn his partners. _I can take two or three, but if more come… _

She bit her lip, but as soon as the thought formed in her head, she felt rather than saw the sudden apparition of three wizards around her. Before they could surround her, she set up a shield and cloaked herself behind a smokescreen. She counted the cracks in the air as she moved through the alleyways, a plan already forming in her head.

_There's at least twelve here – thirteen if I include the guy that escaped before. It's tough, but if I can get them to follow me to the outskirts of the city…_

She took great care of taking turns in apparating and running, in the standard retreating technique taught at most auror schools – she now knew she was dealing with old recruits that had seen little action outside of small civil skirmishes. By using textbook techniques, she hoped she could trick them into thinking textbook strategies – which were easy to deflect. As the buildings gave way to the suburbs, she apparated longer distances. Soon she was able to spot the Sonian Forest, and prepared herself for the ambush that was to come at the border.

"Next time, darling," she shouted as she stunned the auror that had apparated right in front of her. There were only a few blocks separating her from the embrace of the trees, and she crossed them in record time – only to stop at the sight of eight wizards clad in purple robes, pointing their wands at her.

She took a moment to look at their faces – just like she'd taught to her aurors; armies in the Wizarding World were so small that one could easily memorize their enemies' names, strength and weaknesses. She had a small pool of opponents to choose from, and so she'd made an educated guess on who'd be assigned patrol and who would be at the funeral. She relied on Voldemort's incomplete intelligence on the matter, and it'd seemed to pay off – she could recognize five of the wizards present by face and name, and one by face. That meant that the two that she couldn't identify were supposed to be further into the countryside. _Strange, but not completely unexpected, _she thought as she smiled at them.

"General Potter-Gaunt of the United Kingdom," the wizard in the middle, and who appeared to be of higher rank, spoke. "You are wanted for the slaying of-"

"Yes, Captain Ruysbroeck" Harriet interrupted him, "I am aware of my bad reputation. I appreciate the politeness of this intro, but I'll have to choose to resist this arrest," she raised her wand, and without giving them time to prepare themselves, she blasted the concrete under their feet to pieces.

She knew that the wardbreaker of the unit would protect them with shields – a late night conversation with an auror she'd managed to capture before Voldemort and her launched the attack had revealed that they used the standard units. They'd have a wardbreaker, two archers, four fighters and a scouter. _Ruysbroeck and the blond country guy lack the standard protective runes for close-range fighting on their robes, so they're my archers, _she thought as she dodged two spells._ The wardbreaker must be Vanhengel, he's too old for one-to-one combat, and the rest are fighters._

She transfigured two trees into stags, figuring they'd help her win some time while she took down the wardbreaker. They were always the first option when facing an entire unit, because their loss meant that the rest of the team would have to worry about their own shields, thus hindering the attack. The archers were already in position, attacking her relentlessly with long-rage spells. _I have two minutes to get Vanhengel out of the picture before this battle is lost. _

Acting quickly meant being precise and austere – she used small cutting hexes to create a very difficult ground for a coordinated team. Fallen trees and branches would make it difficult for the archers to aim, and it'd put enough barriers between the fighters and her. It also helped to isolate Vanhengel from the rest of the group.

Just as she casted a freezing charm in the man's direction, she felt something hit her hip and then – pain, piercing pain. They may as well have shot a scalding arrow in her direction; the feeling of burning and tearing was exactly the same. She had to bite her lip until she drew blood before she cried out. Her enemies should never hear or see her distress – it would only make their attack fiercer.

She casted a small stasis charm on her wound, to stop the bleeding and whatever magic may keep the wound from healing. It didn't help with the pain, but she'd have to endure it. She willed her eyes not to tear up as she expressed her frustration and pain through her spell work – soon a series of explosions could be heard coming from inside the quiet, dark forest.

"Motherfucker," she spat, finally catching Vanhengel on his own. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the Captain rise from the floor to stop her from killing his teammate. Robes half singed, angry expression contorting his aged face, single cut oozing blood on his cheek – and that was all she saw as she turned around, before a green light shot out of her wand.

She didn't – couldn't – register the dry _thump_ of the body as it fell to the floor. Before her was her target, and she didn't think twice as she disarmed and rendered him unconscious with a stunning spell. A cry ran through the forest, disquieting in its intensity. Through the scorched maze of leaves and trees she saw three men holding back one of their own. _The scouter_, she realized; the youngest one in the bunch. _I just killed this man's father_.

Harriet felt torn. She knew the consequences of the game they played – she knew that the people she killed in the line of duty were fathers, mothers, sons, daughters… She knew that the moment they raised their wand against her they were accepting of the price they could pay for their actions. It still didn't make it any easier. To her, every kill felt like the first one.

Her hand tightened its hold on her wand. _The only difference between then and now,_ she told herself, _is that it's easier to pretend that this is okay._

She resumed her attack. The men scattered, adopting what she assumed was a hexagram formation, intended to close on her. It was difficult to get out of it if done right, and she had the feeling that they were as motivated as a soldier could get. _And my hip is hurting badly. At this rate, and without backup, I'll not make it._

A strong buzz was the only warning she got before the six remaining men emerged from the sea of trees. She could try and get out of the formation by apparating, but it was a tricky matter in a place like a forest, surrounded by so many trees. In the heat of the battle, she could easily kill herself by apparating right in the same place as a tree… _unless I go higher._

She won time by shielding herself. The only weak point to her foes' strategy was their overconfidence in their numbers – six to one was a pretty bad equation, anyone would say, but they were favoring small, powerful light spells without taking into account her reputation. She'd always been good at defensive magic; time and experience had only refined her skills.

She looked up and tried to calculate how high she'd have to be when she apparated – too high and she wouldn't be able to stop the fall, too low and she could splinch. She bit her lip and dropped her shields, before making her move. Four screams were heard, and she had a very confusing moment in which her ears adjusted to the change of location – she was hearing the men from above now.

As soon as her body was in the air, gravity began to pull her back. She pointed her wand at the trees, willing them to cushion her fall. The branches reached out for her, animated by her magic, and in the same movement reached down to her attackers. She jumped onto the trunk of a fallen tree, and began to press on the aurors – the trees and her spells forced them into the defensive. Without a wardbreaker they were very vulnerable, and Harriet took advantage of that.

An enraged cry fell from one of the fighters' mouth. Her eyes caught a blur of movement before another cry was heard – she smelled blood before she saw the red splash, and understood that the man had tried what she'd been careful not to do. "Poor man," she murmured, "he splinched."

The men's forces were wearing down; taking advantage of the fighter's splinching, and the momentary distraction it caused, she took down another fighter with a cutting hex. Four were still up and fighting, an archer among those. The movement of the trees and her own barrage of spells had left the scouter at the limit; even in spite of his anger and grief, he'd fall prey to his injuries not before long.

"Then it's three against one," she muttered, and grit her teeth as a stray spell breached the runic wards on her robes. The runes would absorb most of the negative effects of the spell, but the physical pain that came with the discharge of energy was felt, and strongly.

A wave of her wand shook the earth under the aurors' feet. As she'd predicted, the scouter fell and didn't get up. As soon as he was accounted for, the animated trees that had been attacking him returned to their previous stillness. The only sign that anything had happened at all were their damaged branches and the leaves pooling over the roots.

Another quake brought forth dark, dusty spikes rising upwards and menacingly into the sky. The remaining aurors jumped away before they could become prey to the mangled earth, but Harriet noticed that one of the fighters' robes had been shredded beyond repair. That meant that his protective runes would not protect him from basic spells – like a simple _Levilicorpus_, that would raise his body high in the air…

She was hit in the chest by a spell and her hold on the man was released – she'd initially intended to buy herself some time bargaining with the man's life. But she fell backwards and he fell down, down to the spikes she'd conjured – a brutal death she was glad not to witness. _They sacrificed him_, she belatedly thought as she tried to regain her breath. She tried to get up, but found herself immobilized. Panic surged inside her, adrenaline pumping through her veins as her ears caught the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Fuck," she bit out. She found she could barely move her forearm and hands. With her limited movements she managed to hide her wand so her captors would think it'd been lost in the fight.

"Well, it seems like we got ourselves a little Queen," the eldest of the two said, as they came closer to her body. He had a sneer on his bloodied face. She felt some satisfaction with herself when she noticed that his left arm was hanging useless to his side. "You are far from home, your majesty."

"Just kill the fucking bitch already," said his companion as he eyed the fallen woman with distaste. "Better to be safe than sorry. The slut's master must've taught her a trick or two."

"Who would've thought," Harriet said slowly, "that the Belgians liked to use recycled trash for their Auror corps. No wonder I could take so many on my own."

She braced herself for the kick that was sure to come. Instead, she felt hands on her hair yanking her head up, her stare meeting the eldest auror's eyes as he knelt beside her. "Don't get cocky on us, woman. We'll have enough time, you and I, for you to learn what kind of trash we Belgian aurors really are."

Harriet spat at him. The enraged man moved away from her, rising up to land a swift kick to her stomach. She bit her lips, opening old wounds, as the pain from the kick ignited the pain in her hips. She realized her movements had become less restricted, which meant that whatever spell they'd hit her with was losing its effect. With a hand under her, she reached for her wand, biding her time.

"Now, what should we do with her grace?" the auror looked at his companion, a burly man with a thick beard and an amount of scars on his face that she'd only seen in Alastor Moody's own visage.

"Well, we are in no hurry," he said, "perhaps we could make her pay for each of our comrade's lives?"

"Oh, dear children, please don't hold back on your creativity for me," she interrupted them with a raised eyebrow. "After all, we did get pretty creative with your friends up there in the isles."

"Friends?" the silver-haired man that had kicked her asked. "What are you talking about?"

Harriet looked from one man to the other, a serious frown on her face. "The aurors that were sent to my country to aid the rebels."

Both men looked at each other for a moment. "I think this bitch is lying," said the burly one. "She's just spouting bullshit to gain time."

That caught Harriet's attention. _They don't know about the massacre? _She fumbled with her wand, careful not to let the other two notice._ I think it's time to stop stalling._

With a quick movement of her wand she'd broken what was left of the immobilization spell. She rolled over to the side, dodging two twin rays that had been meant for her. She disarmed both men as she rose, feeling grime and leaves cascade around her. "Now, gentlemen," she said, "I'd appreciate some answers here."

"Fuck off," the burly man said. "You'll have to kill us first."

She nodded her head at him. "All in due time -" her open mouth was softly closed as she heard a strange rumbling sound in the distance. The two men in front of her looked around as well, confused as she was by the strange intensity of the noise.

She kept her wand trained on them as she stole a glance behind her – one glimpse of movement, one strange groan, and the next thing she knew-

"What the fuck?" Her confused words were lost in the screaming that followed. The moment she'd turned to look back at her prisoners, she'd been met with nothing but empty space. Two bodies lay mauled on the floor – strange claw marks disfiguring their faces and torso. The coppery smell of blood was mixed with the greasy stink of human fat made her insides quiver with disgust. Before she could dwell any further on the carcasses that'd so suddenly and unexpectedly replaced the live prisoners, a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

Dead sunken eyes, waxy green skin; muscles, tendons and fat melting into bone. Each movement brought along with it a spasm, their twitchy limbs alive with an energy that their faces lacked. Harriet had never seen an inferius in the flesh, and she had been quite content with that. Even if one was to ignore the fact that a human body was used for its construction, they were reputed to be fast, ruthless creatures. Under a powerful wizard they could become the perfect army – they had no other thought in their heads than their master's orders.

The toothless mouth of the one before her stretched with difficulty into a smile and she had to suppress a shudder. She could hear the groans and the shifting limbs of the creatures that passed them by – these inferi had been moving to the city, and had found them in their path. Understandably, they'd killed those they'd been instructed to kill. By now Harriet was sure that these were under Voldemort's control. He was probably the only wizard alive capable of wielding such magic. _It'd also explain why he seemed so relaxed with the idea of going in by ourselves. He knew he had backup, _she thought.

"C-co-me t-too the ce-le-b-bra-tions, Haa-rriet," the inferius spoke, voice grating on her ears like nails on a chalkboard. It was a raspy, ugly sound that made her skin crawl. "O-our ho-hosts a-are w-waiting."

Harriet bit her lip, and watched as the animated corpse joined its brothers in their exodus to the city. She could only hope they wouldn't harm the muggles in their way. "I have to hurry," she said to herself, conjuring a cloak to hide her injuries. "Maybe I can talk some sense into him before it turns ugly."

* * *

He waited until the boring eulogies from the late minister's friends had started to make his presence known. For some reason he'd never fully understood, the Belgians had assumed that Harriet and he had fled the country after the massacre. Their level of incompetence certainly made things easier for him, and although it was welcome, it also made the whole operation a bit boring. He'd been looking forward to a bit of the old hide-and-seek game that had been so prominent in his early days, but this was a country that had never produced a single Dark Lord in its whole history. He was their first, and it was clear that they didn't know just how to handle the situation. Nevertheless, he'd planned to make a special effort to impress them.

His gait was light and confident as he crossed the Waranderpark. With his dark robes billowing around him as he glided through its carefully-kept pathways, he looked like a vision of death. And true to his image, he let his tall form obscure from sight the trailing bodies floating behind him. Like a child, he needed proof of his conquests and so he brought every single auror he'd found on his way – mangled beyond recognition. He imagined that his wife would only kill those she'd deemed necessary to do so, and thus he was there to compensate.

He arrived at the scene where the funeral was taking place. A dais had been raised above the fountain, its muddy waters stocked with colorful fishes and exotic water flowers. Not too far away he could see the entrance to the _Palais Royal_. _A search for grandiloquence in life behind me, a search for grandiloquence in death in front of me. Poor little things_, he thought. _What is their power worth when they will succumb to the greatest power of them all?_

He detachedly heard small gasps as people began to notice his march towards the dais. Soon the gasps were turning into horrified screams as his trail of bodies came into view. He noted with certain disappointment that the aurors that had concentrated around the casket were unable to move, shocked by the sight of the remains of their comrades.

"I certainly hope I am not intruding," Voldemort said, enjoying the sight of the masses of people parting to let him through. "I simply wanted to offer my condolences to the late Minister."

"You monster!" a woman cried near him. The man that had been taking the stage until then broke in a fit of tears, and two of his companions carried him away. Voldemort watched with mild amusement as a short bald man took the stage in his place, and he belatedly recognized him as the head of the finances department. "We are mourning, sir. We would appreciate to be left alone on this day."

The Dark Lord chuckled, and climbed into the platform. He kept his stare fixed on the short man as he released his hold on the bodies. "I am mourning for my lost subjects as well, little man," he said. "It occurs to me that perhaps our ways of mourning are completely different."

His words seemed to take the aurors out from their stupor. He could see, out of the corners of his eyes, that the rest of the aurors that had been patrolling in the park had arrived. Their purple-clad forms gave a stark contrast against the black robes that most of the wizards present had chosen to don. _Moving targets_, he thought as his face contorted in a sneer. The aurors closest to him started the attack.

Voldemort thought with some amusement that even if the spells managed to reach their target, they would be nothing more than colorful sparks dying on the protections he'd long ago casted on his body. Belgian aurors seemed to favor the lighter side of magic; that, coupled with their unorganized attack, made for a very weak offensive. He began to switch from a defensive stance to a more aggressive one. Pained screams pierced the sky as he gave his foes a taste of the dark arts.

"This is pathetic," he hissed as the sixth auror succumbed to the Killing Curse. "You presume to defeat me using sticks and stones?" An enraged auror slashed his wand towards him, but before the spell's incantation was complete, he was struck with a blood boiling curse. Voldemort turned on his heel to take out the aurors on his back, his movements becoming more fluid and graceful as the enemies piled up. He would admit that it was partly thanks to Harriet that he'd become such a great dueler – up until he'd seen her fight in their youth, he'd never considered the advantages of physical fitness in a duel.

He felt something at the back of his mind, and realized that the inferi he'd left in the Sonian Forest had begun to answer to his earlier call. He intended to make his last move with the creatures present. Hopefully Harriet would be done with her share of aurors by then, but he had no – _oh. Interesting, _he thought with some pleasure as the creatures' feeble minds brought him images of her wife's battle. _Come to the celebrations, Harriet. Our hosts are waiting._

"These are your guardians," he said to the civilians as he killed the last auror on the dais. There was more to his presence there than senseless slaughter, and for that reason he'd erected several wards to prevent the attendees from leaving in panic. "This was the government that swore to protect you," he motioned towards the casket. "Weak-minded fools making a half-hearted effort to protect and serve you."

He felt, rather than saw, the ire in the surviving aurors. He noted with some amusement that in spite of their righteous anger, they would not raise a single complaint. He smirked, daring them to say what was on their minds. "Now," he continued, "I stand before you in the name of the people under my rule who have been wronged by these incompetent fools. Make no mistake; we feel no ill will against you as a nation. Your leader's faults should not reflect on you."

In the distance, he saw a figured cloaked in emerald green frantically make its way to the dais. An itch in the back of his mind told him that the inferi had arrived as well. He positioned them at the edge of the wards he'd erected – just so the civilians would understand the subtle threat. It wasn't long until some muffled screams could be heard, as the people closest to them began to take notice of their presence.

"This is madness," a feminine voice whispered next to him. He nodded, refusing to meet the displeasure in Harriet's eyes. "We shall talk about the relationship between ethics and effectiveness in military strategies later," he answered her, not taking his eyes from the crowd. They were getting restless.

"Because of this," he continued his previous speech, "I will offer you a choice. You can honor your late minister's legacy by antagonizing us, or you can surrender peacefully and end this conflict as swiftly as it began."

The crowd fell silent. "Raise your wands now and we will retaliate," Voldemort said, raising his eyes to meet the dark figures of his inferi at the edge of the wards. "Or stay silent, and live to build a stronger country."

* * *

"Mommy!" came Sal's delighted cry as he ran to his mother's waiting arms. Harriet embraced him, burying her nose in his mop of dark curls. With her little baby in her arms she felt as if the bloodshed she'd just come home from had never happened – she was with her son now, and nothing else mattered beyond his excited little voice.

"Hello, little lion," she said, picking up the four-year-old despite his protests. "Did you give Sirius any trouble?"

"No," he said, looking sideways to his uncle, who was smiling cheekily at the both of them. "I had dessert every day."

"Aw, pity," she said. "Uncle Sirius needs some trouble from time to time to stay in shape," Sirius stuck his tongue out at her as she laughed. She looked back into Sal's dark emerald eyes, "Go to your room, I brought you presents."

The little boy squeaked in excitement and jumped from her arms, swiftly disappearing from sight. Harriet sighed as she looked into her godfather's knowing eyes, knowing that she wouldn't be able to take the day off as she would've liked. "Let's go to my office, we'll talk there," she said to him.

She wasn't surprised when she caught sight of Ginny Weasley languidly resting on one of her armchairs. She closed the door behind them without saying anything to her, knowing that the three of them were in for a long talk. As soon as she was settled behind her desk she found herself with the fiery redhead's gaze on her.

"Are you going to ask me if I want to hear the good news first?" Harriet asked her, getting some firewhiskey from her drawers. She poured one for Sirius, another for her. Ginny never liked drinking at work, which wasn't surprising considering its nature.

"No good news this time," the younger woman replied. She walked to stand in front of Harriet, and laid four photographs in front of her. "There's more, but I picked the clearer ones to show you."

Harriet took a folder out of one of the drawers in her desk and opened it. Inside, the faces of each of the Azkaban prisoners declared missing stared back at her. She held one of the pictures next to the first portrait. The man went from sporting a dark scowl in his mugshot to a vacant, glazed gaze in the photo Ginny had brought her. "Kidnapped and imperio'd, then. What for?"

At this, the redhead gave her a rueful smile and pushed a black folder into Harriet's hands. Sirius managed to get a glimpse of purple from the photos before he looked up to find his goddaughter's rapidly paling face. "Motherfucker," he said.

"I-I suspected this…" Harriet said wearily, massaging her temples. "He took two heads with him the day we declared the war. I found this particularly strange, because I'd ordered all the corpses burnt to ashes right after the attack was finished. As for the prisoners we took, I overlooked their cremation. There were no Belgian bodies for him to decapitate."

"Those were two random aurors then?" Sirius asked. Harriet nodded, "a few days later, during my fight with the auror unit, I found out that they had no knowledge of any team being sent here. He must've captured those aurors after we arrived."

"He staged the attack to invade Belgium," Ginny stated slowly. "Do you know what this means?"

"He has the continent by their balls," Sirius realized. "Belgium is a fiscal paradise. All the big names in Europe have their money there – and the banks are all owned by the government. Low taxes, big money… I hate to say this but that was an intelligent move."

"He massacred my people to get it," spoke Harriet in a low voice. She looked up to meet Ginny's stare. "Tell Hermione I'll be drafting a new piece of legislation that I need to see passed by the end of the week. It'll not change things too much, but I need to move slowly enough so he'll not notice."

Ginny nodded. "You got it, boss."

* * *

Harriet could only faintly hear him as he entered the room. She'd been lost in her own thoughts, eyes scanning the grounds lazily from her vantage point in the balcony outside her bedroom. She felt him approach, and she tensed. He pretended not to notice. He encircled her black-clad form with his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"What are you playing at, Voldemort?" she said evenly.

"You spoke with Sirius, I presume?"

"I spoke with a lot of people," she said, and felt him sigh. "This whole stupid charade was because of a false flag – this whole rebellion shit has been a false flag. You've left Bill Weasley's brains looking like Swiss cheese."

"I confess I was curious what it would look like after five years of _Imperio_".

Harriet tried to turn back so she could properly express her anger and frustration, but her husband's arms would not let her. "Fuck you! You've sent your subjects to their death simply to amuse yourself? No, wait, or it was because you needed to uh," she mimicked his voice as she recited from memory one of the lines she'd read in the memos Hermione had shown her. "_Prepare the foundations of a British empire._"

"Do I really have to go over all my motivations for doing such?"

She snorted. "Be a good husband and indulge me, please."

"I needed a common enemy to turn this country into a military state," Harriet tensed, and sensing this Voldemort stroked the side of her hip to calm her. "I wanted people to think they should rely on their army. That is why I captured Bill Weasley. That's why I funded them. I also required that my army matured before launching into bigger things."

Harriet felt him smirk when he kissed her hair. "You'll recall how easy it was for you to beat that mess they called auror corps, how flawed their formations were. You've exceeded my expectations as a fighter, as a leader."

"That is why I think the time is ripe now for us to expand towards the continent."

Harriet choked back a sad laugh. "Oh yes, and here I was wondering when you'd start talking about your plans for world domination," she moved away from him, walking back into their bedroom. "I'm tired of playing nice, darling. You should know by now that I will not abide by your sending people to their death because of your need to amuse yourself."

Voldemort smirked. "I would not have it any other way."

Harriet nodded and sat on the bed. "Well, we'll see about that."

* * *

**Notes:** yes, it's back! To be honest my muse awoke while I was re-reading the first two chapters, and I had the urge to write some kind of a sequel to show what had happened after their takeover.

*Didn't know whether to use French or Dutch as the secretary's language, but the Wikipedia article said that up until the 20th century the Belgians authorities mostly used French, so I went with it. I figured wizards would be massive slowpokes and wouldn't change that custom.

** _Der tod und das madchen,_ by Schubert. The translation is _Give me your hand, your fair and tender form, you shall sleep gently in my arms._


End file.
